My Love will Never Die
by N.S.L. Jewelles
Summary: Erik of Eaton is captured but is saved by the beautiful Christine of Dalton. They fall in love even though he is a servant to her fiance Raoul, son of his father's greatest enemy. Can love overcome all odds? POTO meets Aida in the Middle Ages, currently T
1. Prologus

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: Welcome to my newest endeavor, a combination of _Phantom_ and _Aida_, two of the most wonderful love stories ever to grace the stage. This is a new undertaking for me, trying to combine two stories into one that takes place in a completely different setting than that of either story. I recommend the music from both shows, as well as seeing them both. Maybe you'll think, like I did upon coming into contact with _Aida_, that "Wow, this is so like _Phantom_!" Here are some notes before we begin…**

**Rough Story Summary:** Erik, the son of the Lord of Eaton, is captured by his father's enemy, the Lord of Chagny, and falls in love with the beautiful Lady Christine, the fiancée of Chagny's son Raoul. Fate intervenes and the lovers find themselves caught in her forceful grip, but she is powerless to overcome an undying love. POTO meets _Aida_ set in Europe during the Middle Ages, strong EC with subtle RC, Erik wears a half-mask and then full.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Phantom of the Opera_ in any of its various forms, but I do take inspiration from the movie, the stage show and the original novel. I also do not own any version of _Aida_, though both the musical and the opera play parts in the story. This is purely fanfiction and I make no profits from this.

**Rated T/M:** The official rating has not been determined yet. As of right now, it will be a T but violence and/or sexuality later on may up the rating. If you are not old enough to read, please don't, but I will alert readers if/when the rating changes and in what chapters it will be relevant. I cannot be responsible if a young reader encounters what they shouldn't, so be careful, please.

**The Characters:** This is a combination of _Phantom_ and _Aida_, though knowledge of the storylines is not required. (If you do know the storyline, know that it will be altered to fit the setting, etc.) For those who are aware of the storyline, the following characters are replacing one another for certain...

_Erik_ will be taking the place of _Aida_

_Christine_ will be taking the place of _Radames_

_Raoul_ will be taking the place of _Amneris_

_Meg (Margaret)_ will be taking the place of _Mereb_

Other characters will be determined as the story progresses.

**The Setting:** I am not an expert on the Middle Ages. I have done some research regarding the setting, but not everything will be 100 accurate. If there are any glaring errors, please inform me and I will happily adjust it. But remember, this is harmless AU fanfiction, not a history lesson.

**As well, I must extend thanks to the wonderful DonJuanTriumphs who helped me out with this idea and with another that is on long-term hiatus in my brain and also test-ran the prologue. I couldn't have done this without her – thank you so much! I encourage everybody to go and read her work because she's very talented and has a knack for POTO fanfic.**

**So, without further ado, a fanfiction by N.S.L. Jewelles…

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**My Love will Never Die**

_Based upon "The Phantom of the Opera" and "Aida"_

"We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." – Joseph Campbell

**Prologus**

_A History Museum in New York City – The Present_

The exhibit was eerily quiet as Chris trailed along at the back of the school group, drawing her fingers along the description plaques nonchalantly. It hadn't been her decision to go to the history museum in New York with her class, it had been that of her parents, and she was trying desperately to have some semblance of a good time. It wasn't working.

Chris sighed to herself, thinking about what she could've been doing with her day instead of accompanying her history class on its trip. She could've been studying with her voice coach during that day's free period, or, though she loathed the woman, working with the college counselor on her applications. Her life, as she'd told her father and mother, an Egyptologist and an anthropologist, respectively, would go on quite well if she didn't end up some type of historian like them. There was no wrongdoing in not following in the footsteps of those who'd given her life, merely guilt, endless guilt which Chris, no matter how hard she tried, couldn't shake.

As she continued strolling through the Middle Ages section, her attention was drawn to an elegant portrait mounted on the wall of a man with glorious golden hair and vivid blue eyes decked out in deep navy embroidered finery. Looking at the plaque below the painting, she read quietly to herself, "_Lord Raoul of Chagny was known for his expensive and elegant tastes and often had portraits painted of himself in all of his exquisite dress. This surviving portrait dates when Lord Raoul was in his twenties._"

Chris found herself staring at the portrait of Lord Raoul, caught in the intensity of his perfectly blue eyes. _It's a painting, Chris. A painting of some dead guy. Get a grip._ Brushing a rogue strand of curly hair behind her ear, Chris shifted her gaze to the painting that accompanied the one of Lord Raoul, except this one was not nearly as grand. It depicted a sad-looking maid, her blonde hair held back by a kerchief, staring at the floor as she swept a stone room. "_Entitled 'The Maid', this painting was commissioned by Lord Raoul of Chagny to be painted of his favored servant. There are no records of who the maid was or of any further relationship with Lord Raoul._"

"Christine! Stay with the group!" Mr. Hancock, Chris's history teacher, called to her from further along in the exhibit, sounding utterly irritated. Chris rolled her eyes and turned abruptly from reading the plaque.

Chris's stomach dropped into the floor as she rammed into something large and hard rather quickly and she was sent to the floor. She heard a thud ahead of her and looked up to see a male figure on the floor beside her. Horrified and embarrassed, Chris scrambled to stand up. "I'm sorry," she said, and then realized that the man's voice mingled with hers, having said the same words.

Her face turning undeniably crimson, Chris again said, "I'm sorry," as the man stood up and adjusted a hat to shadow most of his face, leaving a bit of his left eye and cheek illuminated in the dim lights of the exhibit. "That was really stupid of me," Chris stuttered, unable to take her eyes off of the man before her. He couldn't be more than a few years her elder, but the presence he had, however quiet, was astounding. It seemed as though he could walk into a room and make anybody, including someone as uneasily impressed as Chris, watch and listen to him. "Excuse me," Chris said quietly, set on getting out of the situation before she did anything too blockheaded.

As Chris passed the man to join up with her school group, she heard a soft feminine voice, "_Do you think this is it?_" Spinning around, Chris only saw the man, now thoroughly engaged in the plaques below the two paintings she'd been admiring. Chris's breath caught in her throat; the blonde maid whose eyes had been fixed upon the floor was now looking towards the painting of Lord Raoul!

"That's impossible," Chris murmured to herself, breathing deeply and walking towards her classmates once again.

"_It's quite possible_." This time, it was a distinctly masculine voice that Chris heard, and she once again spun around, but immediately turned back. The portrait of Lord Raoul, whose blue eyes had been looking straight ahead, were now angled to look at the painting of the maid. _Christine, you're seeing things._

"Are you all right?" Chris felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to see the man she'd run into standing before her, the expression on the visible part of his face worried. This close, she could tell that his eyes were a vivid green and that he'd just shaved; his skin was smooth and he had a slightly soapy scent. Glancing around, Chris realized that all of the turning around must've been noticeable, as a few other museum patrons were looking at her and the man suspiciously. _Maybe it's his hat._

"Yes, thank you," she managed to say, backing away a bit. "I've got to go," Chris continued, motioning at the school group with her hand. As she moved her foot to turn around, the man extended a large hand to her.

"Erik," he said, obviously looking to introduce himself to Chris. A little unsure of herself, Chris reached out her hand and felt the man grasp it firmly in his own. "I'm a grad student at Columbia."

"Christine," Chris replied uneasily, even more intimidated now that she knew this Erik was at least four years her senior and over a head her superior. "I'm a senior at an independent school outside the City," Chris said, hoping he wouldn't think less of her or take advantage of her for not being his age. _Chris, just go meet up with your class and get away from this dude._ "Look, I…"

"You've got to go," Erik said, nodding to her and releasing her small hand. Chris moved her head up and down in agreement and Erik continued, "Enjoy the exhibit."

"Thanks," said Chris, swallowing hard and turning around to meet up with her class. Once she was further down the exhibit hallway, only a few feet behind the school group, Chris glanced behind her to see Erik continuing to read the plaques below the two paintings.

Breathing deeply, a little rattled by the encounter with this strange Erik, Chris stepped forward to read the plaque below a set of two portraits, one of a man, dark-featured but breathtakingly handsome, and one of a woman, delicate and angelically beautiful.

"_Yes, it is quite possible._"

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**References:**

1. _The Prologue_: This corresponds to the prologue of _Aida_ and even, in a way, to that of _Phantom_. More will be explained next chapter, but these are not really the main characters of the story, nor is it the main action.

2. _History Museum_: This is not a specific history museum in New York, so don't expect to go in and see this. As well, all of the characters are completely fictional; there was no real Sir Raoul of Chagny, etc.

4


	2. I: Victoria

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **First of all, thank you to those who have already shown their support for this story…I'm very flattered by your comments and hope you come to enjoy the rest of the story as well!

Many of you have voiced questions regarding the story of _Aida_ beyond the list of corresponding characters that many of you probably don't recognize. A basic knowledge of _Aida_ is unnecessary as this story has no actual relationship to that one beyond plotline and some other things to come up later on. However, a synopsis of the musical version…

_In a modern-day museum, two people, a man and a woman, are looking at an exhibit about Nubia, when the spirit of female Pharaoh Amneris appears and begins a story about a time before she became Pharaoh. Aida, Princess of Nubia, is captured by the Egyptians and taken hostage by Captain Radames and his soldiers. Upon returning to Egypt, Aida is saved from death in the copper mines by the captain and given as a gift to the Princess Amneris. Pharaoh's chief advisor, Zoser, is keen on seeing Radames, his own prodigy, attain the position of Pharaoh and has the ill Pharaoh to command that Radames and Amneris be married a week hence; Zoser has been the one secretly poisoning Pharaoh so he will die and leave the throne of Egypt to Amneris and now Radames. Upset over never being able to travel again, Radames goes to Aida for comfort. In the meantime, Aida has been reunited with her father's advisor's son, Mereb, a servant to Radames who brings her to the Nubian camp where she is heralded as their leader though they keep her identity as princess a secret from the Egyptians. Aida is therefore torn when Radames professes her love for her, but the two keep the romance a secret. Then, Aida's father, King Amonasro, is captured and Aida and Mereb go to see him planning his escape for the day of the wedding. Zoser uncovers his son's love affair, revealing that he is in fact Radames' father by the captain's dead courtesan mother and forcing Radames to send a letter to Aida that he can't ever see her again. Zoser then commands that his agents find Aida and kill her, but when they arrive at the Nubian camp, Aida's friend Nehebka sacrifices herself in her princess's place. Radames then defies his father, and Aida hers, and they meet in secret, Radames promising to help Aida herself escape during the wedding, though he knows nothing of Aida's true identity and that she plans to help Amonasro escape as well. Amneris overhears the two talking and, though she now knows that her whole wedding is just a distraction, decides to go through with it. Unfortunately, news of Amonasro escaping from prison interrupts the wedding. Amonasro has been freed by boat but Mereb is killed when the guards arrive and Aida and Radames are arrested for treason. At the trial, the lovers are sentenced to being buried alive beneath the sands of Egypt. Amneris ascends to the throne of Egypt by commanding that Aida and Radames be buried in the same tomb, an act of kindness for two people she has come to love. As the tomb is sealed up, Radames promises Aida that he will search across a hundred lifetimes to find her again. Back in the museum, the two people in the exhibit are strangely drawn to one another as Amneris completes her story._

The original opera differs slightly from this; for example, there is action preceding Aida's capture, the role of Mereb is nonexistent and at the end, only Radames is condemned to be buried alive but Aida sneaks into the tomb to be with him. For the most part the plotline will, besides _Phantom_ (mostly movie/ALW w/ some Leroux, if I didn't mention this already), be based on the musical version explained above. I hope it helps you understand the story a little more as time wears on. However, don't expect the outcome/plot to be the same as this, as bits are, of course, borrowed from _Phantom_ and from my own mind, so if something doesn't turn out as it does in _Aida_, don't be surprised.

Of course, I own neither _Aida_ nor _Phantom_ and profit from neither, though I'd be a very rich woman if I did.

As well, there are some historical/musical references at the end of the chapter…I'll be doing this for each chapter in which it is relevant.

Last, but certainly not least, I extend a very heartfelt thank you to my wonderful Beta and author buddy **DonJuanTriumphs**. She gives me wonderful support and advice and is a fantastic friend, as always.

**Happy reading and please review!**

**NSLJ

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**Caput I – Victoria**

_Europe – The Middle Ages_

Erik stood high on the hill overlooking the small picturesque town and the encampment nearby as the sun set to his back. He realized how stupid it had been on his part to allow the knights of his company to take the night off and carouse in the town when he wouldn't join them as a supervisor, especially when he was not in the mood to count the number of women who would be in the camp after sundown. But his knights had earned it and even Erik could admit to that.

It hadn't been his decision to lead the company towards Chagny's strongholds, but as the eldest child and his father's only male heir, it was a responsibility. A pain and something he'd rather not do, but it was a loyalty he owed to his father and Erik wasn't ready to turn that down. Erik's glory in battle meant everything to his father, not only because Erik's only siblings were two younger sisters, Elizabeth and Olivia, but because he himself had failed to triumph in war. The success of his son spelled redemption for the family name, at least as far as battle was concerned, something that Erik had grown up knowing it was his responsibility to do.

Ever since Erik's birth just over twenty-five years prior, his father, Lord Arnold of Eaton, had been at constant war with the Lord of Chagny. His lands rested just to the north and east of Erik's fathers but were far larger and his own manor far grander. Erik, Elizabeth and Olivia had grown up in overwhelming wealth, even after their mother Catherine's death, severing the ties between Eaton and neighboring Stanwood, the family to which she was born. Still, it paled in comparison to the might that was Chagny.

"My lord!" Erik was drawn from his thoughts by one of the knights in his company running up the hill, panting and calling for him. "My lord," he said again upon reaching Erik, doubled over and wheezing, having run from the town. "My lord, you must join us in the town. There is much to…"

"I know what there is much of," Erik responded coldly as the knight raised himself up to his full stature, still breathing quite heavily, "and I have no interest in it at all. You may all woo shameless whores to your beds but I'll have no part in it." Erik turned away from the man before him, looking out beyond the town to the north, the hills rising up and falling down into valleys for miles upon miles. The bitter winds of the autumn were starting to come, whipping Erik's dark ebony hair about his head and making the exposed skin of his face tingle with the cold. "Go back to your courtesans."

At Erik's words, the knight appeared disheartened and offended, but maintained his composure nonetheless. "Sir Erik, I've come to you not for the purpose of bringing you to a whore in the town," the knight said calmly, staring at Erik intently. "It is…far from that," he continued, hesitating. "There is a woman…"

Erik whirled around to face the man again, the heat of the setting sun once again to his back. Staring at the knight before him fiercely, emerald eyes blazing, he said forcefully, "A woman you say? Did I not just…"

Erik's temper, widely respected but always avoided, flared when the knight cut him off. "Aye, a woman, with the voice of an angel and a visage to rival any, even Elizabeth," he said, but Erik was enraged at the very mention of his sister's name on the lips of a man who had no right to speak of her so.

Grabbing the knight by the scruff of his neck and lifting him just above the hardened earth, Erik rasped, "You steal glances at my sister, do you now?"

"N-n-nay, my lord, never. She is the talk of the knights, though, Elizabeth is, and Olivia as well. Ever since the Lord Arnold's announcement that they are both to marry within two summers, every man of your company has…" Erik interrupted the knight's words by releasing him, allowing the man to stumble on the ground as he caught his footing. Before the knight could protest, Erik was off and running down the hill towards the town. If there was one thing that could always manage to pull on a nerve in Erik, it was men talking of his sisters when they should not be. Since childhood, Elizabeth and Olivia had been Erik's closest friends and confidantes, and he had been the one most thrown by his father's decision to allow them to marry. He knew, just like all of the others, that Elizabeth was a rare beauty, as was Olivia, but to hear them spoken of by the other knights in no appropriate contexts was enough to make him irate and not to be reckoned with.

As Erik entered the small town, his ears were met with the too-loud whispers of people on their doorsteps, recoiling or marveling at the sight of him, a tall, broad fierce warrior, as well as sighs from some of the town's female inhabitants at his muscular physique and handsome features. Erik rounded a corner of one of the streets, never lessening his pace, and saw the lighted windows of a tavern a hundred paces away, the brightness of them stark against the darkening night sky.

Angered beyond words at his knights for speaking of his sisters while he was not present to defend their honor, Erik burst into the tavern, knowing full well that they were all inside, even if they were drunk or otherwise indisposed. Upon Erik's entrance into the tavern, the patrons surrounding the door quieted, though the activities of the rest were continued. Those who had stopped stared at the menacing figure before them, eyes wide and fearing. Erik could see the knights of his company who'd noticed his entrance alert the others to his presence and soon almost the entire tavern had stopped to watch the man in the doorway.

It was then, as all went quiet, that Erik realized there had been music resonating throughout the tavern, a sweet and beautiful melody sung by the most pure and exquisite voice Erik had ever held witness to. Chancing to gaze up at the stage at the back of the tavern, Erik beheld a woman he could only assume was the one the knight had referred to back on the hill beyond the town.

His breath caught in his throat. The woman on the stage was breathtakingly beautiful, her body small and lithe but clearly soft, curvaceous and womanly. Her skin was of creamy perfection with no blemish to be seen. Crowning her head was a long mass of curled chestnut hair, framing her perfectly oval face. And her eyes! Erik had never seen such gloriously blue, clear eyes in his years, not once! The woman's eyes and elegantly arched brows gave way to a small but lovely nose and the most supple, rosy pair of lips ever to be had on a woman, so unsurpassable and perfect that Erik could seemingly taste them already.

The woman stared back at Erik across the room, her delicate features showing her irritation at being interrupted. Strengthening his resolve, Erik said loudly, "All in the First Company must report to the camp immediately!" He stared viciously at each and every one of the knights in the tavern, some half-conscious from alcohol and others half-dressed with various women. Angry with himself for so rudely stopping the woman's performance but afraid he'd never be able to look away from her if he offered his apologies to her personally, Erik said simply to the whole tavern, "Continue," before turning and walking out onto the darkened road.

Erik walked far ahead of the rest of the company, all of whom were stumbling out of the tavern, fearing what their leader was angered over. Erik knew well that his protection of his sisters was, at times, extreme, but, after all, they were his sisters in blood and in heart and nobody would talk about them as if they were common courtesans.

But what threw Erik most of all, even more than the company talking of Elizabeth and Olivia, was the woman who had been singing in the tavern. She couldn't have been one of the tavern's women, for she was far too beautiful to be caught in such a profession, and he strongly doubted that she was of the lower class in the town, for her figure was dressed impeccably and her beauty enhanced by exquisite jewels that only the wealthiest could afford. They way she had stared at him, her eyes full of anger and yet so much perfection and love…Erik could hardly breathe thinking about it. Never in his life had a woman taken him so by surprise, and he wouldn't ever see her again after the company left the town to advance on Chagny. Fate, he had decided long ago, was cruel. It was Fate that had taken his mother from him. It was Fate that had made Chagny's lands his father's envy and desire. It was Fate that had cursed him with the face of a monster.

As he entered the encampment, Erik reached up a gloved hand and gently touched the dark mask covering the right side of his face. Some said it was for his own protection. Some said it was a ploy to make him appear more mysterious and beguiling and only Erik, his father and sisters knew otherwise. God and his mistress Fate had cursed him like this, punishing him for some unknown reason and in the very depths of his heart Erik hated them for it. He'd given up on God long ago, knowing that it was Him, the Almighty that had bestowed upon him such an atrocious curse as a face. And it was He that would align Fate so Erik would never lay eyes on the woman in the tavern ever again, even when she had bewitched him as none before her had.

The knights had assembled to his back at the entrance of the camp and Erik could seemingly feel their nervousness. "Fearing me, are we?" he said forcefully, whirling around to stare at the group of knights. He stalked closer to the front line like a lion, standing tall and proudly at his full height, which was considerable. "Pray tell, why would there be any need for fear? You've not done a thing out of line with me, have you?" He was nearly yelling, his green eyes full of fire. "Then none of you have spoken out of turn of the ladies of my family?" Erik could feel a tremor pass through the knights as he paced back and forth before them. "Nobody?"

Silence permeated the air, thick and overpowering. "To your tents, all of you," Erik said gruffly, pushing his way through the group and away from the encampment. "Now!" he yelled, though he did not look at the knights as they scrambled to follow his orders. Breathing in deeply, filling his lungs with the soothing night air, Erik walked determinedly back to the small town. Fate had made a fool of him. It was only fair that he returned the favor.

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As Christine sat alone in her room at the tavern, she felt a strange nervousness wash over her. In all of her performances across the land, she had never once felt anything but confidence, and that she exuded when she took the stage. But now…this town was no different than any other, at least not that she could tell. It was within the realm of land that was safe for her to travel within and she was protected at all times by guards. What did she, a wealthy and privileged noble, have to fear?

"My lady?" A small meek voice came to Christine from across the room and she looked up to see one of her ladies-in-waiting, Margaret, standing in the doorway. "My lady, the innkeeper has told me that you're to perform in nigh an hour. You must prepare!"

Smiling gently at Margaret, Christine replied, "Aye, it is then." Margaret, her long blonde hair flying behind her, ran to Christine's chair and began combing the woman's luxurious albeit untamable dark curls as Christine sat calmly, trying to throw the feeling of insecurity.

Ever since she was a small girl, Christine had been traveling the countryside around her home, enchanting the locals with her voice. Her family was of wealth, though not immeasurable, and Christine's choice to entertain came as a grand shock to her parents, who had dreams of her becoming the wife of a handsome nobleman and the mother of a clan of just as handsome male heirs. They could not deny, however, that their daughter was gifted and talented beyond her years and so the grand dream of married life was put on hold.

At eighteen, Christine was beginning to realize that the chapter of her life as a performer was coming to an end. As Margaret tugged at a particularly nasty knot in her hair, Christine glanced at the pure white diamond on her left ring-finger, its perfection apparent as it sparkled in the dim light of the room. What it symbolized was her dream and her nightmare, her protection and her downfall, her triumph and her failing.

Christine adored the Lord of Chagny's son. They had grown up together, playing at a young age on the small hills between their families' manors. He was much older than her and, when she was only five, he had taken on the role as her protectorate when they played. Christine saw very little of him once she began traveling, though she heard much of him from her father, Gerard, who was the chief advisor to the Lord of Chagny. As she grew older and saw less and less of her childhood playmate, only hearing stories, Christine found herself falling more and more in love with her distant comrade. Everything her father relayed to her about him was stories of his chivalry, his triumphs and, of course, his unsurpassable handsomeness.

When, three months ago, word had come from the Lord of Chagny that his son wished to marry Christine, she was hesitant. She had not seen him in years, not to mention that marriage would forever end her chances of singing again. But she had agreed and soon after the ring that now adorned her finger had arrived into her father's hands and it was presented to her.

Margaret, as she combed Christine's unruly hair, mused, "You're thinking of Sir Raoul, aye?" Almost a year before Christine's acceptance of the Lord of Chagny's son's proposal, Margaret had been taken from her home on the Lord of Eaton's manor as a hostage and was brought to Chagny's own manor as a maid. His son had taken a particular liking to her and insisted that she be given to Christine as a part of their engagement. Despite having lived well once on Eaton's manor, and then under the command of the Lord of Chagny, Margaret could not deny that she appreciated Christine even more than both. The young lady was bright, considerate and beautiful, but it did not faze Margaret, nor did it inspire jealousy. Christine, in the four months since Margaret came into her service, had become one of the young maid's closest friends, and the feelings were reciprocal, both lady and maid appreciating the other as if they had grown up together.

"Aye, Margaret. I find myself thinking of him more than I ought," Christine said quietly, her elegant fingers gently caressing the diamond's smooth facets. "Is it strange that I both dread marrying him and desire him above all else?"

"Nay, my lady! Love does strange things to us," Margaret responded, laying the comb on a side table and beginning to arrange Christine's hair. "'Tis only natural for you to feel this way."

Christine looked down into her lap and continued, "I don't know what to think any longer, Margaret, especially about him. My heart longs to be with him again, for I do love him despite not having seen him, but I know that what I truly enjoy is what I've done for so many years, and that is to sing."

Margaret pinned Christine's hair and moved to retrieve the dress Christine was to wear. "Don't worry about it now, my lady," she said gently. "You've plenty of time to adjust and there is no sense in fussing over something that's not yet come." As Margaret returned to Christine with the dress, Christine caught her arm.

"Margaret, I've told you to call me Christine when we are in private. You know that you are one of my only and truest friends!" Christine amicably embraced Margaret, who, though flattered and shocked, returned the gesture. "There is no reason to treat your friend as your superior when she is, in fact, merely your equal."

Blushing, Margaret replied, "An equal! Christine, which of us is to be the Lady of Chagny one day?" It was Christine's turn to blush. "Besides," Margaret said, reaching out to Christine, "I enjoy helping you as your lady-in-waiting. Now come, we must get you dressed."

As Margaret helped Christine remove her dressing gown, Christine spoke, "Margaret, do you miss the Lord of Eaton's manor?" Christine knew well of the rivalry between Chagny and Eaton for she had grown up in the midst of it. However, Margaret was the first she'd met who had any relation to the opposition.

"Sometimes," Margaret replied softly. "I hardly dare to think of it. The last memories I have are not…pleasant," she said, tears springing forth in her eyes. Christine turned to her and looked at her quizzically, but before she could offer any words, Margaret continued. "My whole family was abducted by Chagny's troops and I've no notion as to where any of them have ended up! My sisters, my parents…all gone and…" she trailed off and collected herself. "I apologize. I should not be speaking in such a way about Chagny in front of you." Christine, slightly hurt but understanding at the same time, chose not to press the subject any further and instead allowed Margaret to help her into the dress she'd be performing in.

When Christine was finally done preparing for the evening's performance, she and Margaret walked out of the room towards the tavern's main room and Christine felt her stomach tie in knots again. Why was she so nervous? Was it that it could very well be her last performance outside of the Chagny manor, or something deeper than even that?

The men working at the tavern jostled Christine back and forth despite Margaret loudly voicing her concerns and she was finally shoved onto the stage when she heard the innkeeper announce her. Stumbling a bit, Christine looked out at her audience; there were far more men than in the last few towns she'd visited, but she could tell that it must've been a company of knights for the majority was dressed in matching embroidered tunics.

Christine swallowed deeply as much of the assembled audience fell silent upon her entrance. She began to sing songs she'd known from childhood, some of which she'd picked up from visiting nobles or from the maids of her house. The knights in the audience would come and go, whether out into the night for some fresh air or into the recesses of the tavern to experience all that its courtesans had to offer.

After many songs, Christine picked the melody that would be her last. Taking a long breath, Christine began her song, a lilting melody her mother had taught her long ago before she had passed on, and the thought of it brought tears to Christine's eyes, but she quickly brushed them aside. "_Take me in, my dreams recurring cheerful as a childhood dance, into one more taste of freedom, one more longing backward glance._"

As she completed the first verse, Christine could tell that she was losing her audience except for a few men who had come and assembled before her stage, eyes roving her body and making her feel out of place. Calming herself, she went on with the second verse. "_In the sway of somber music I shall never, never understand let me slip into the sweeter chorus of that other land_." Christine ended the second verse but her last few words had been lost as there was a ruckus at the entrance of the tavern and the room suddenly fell silent.

Gazing at the source of the interruption, Christine locked eyes with a tall dark figure at the tavern's entrance, a man she assumed to be the reason for her having to end her song prematurely. She wasn't, however, bothered at all by looking upon the man. He was clearly a knight, for his body was strong and toned and he held himself up to his full stature with pride, and he had to have been a high-ranking officer for his clothing was more elegant and rich than any of the others' combined. Christine was most intrigued, however, by the emerald green eyes that were seemingly boring into her own blue ones, and one of them from behind a startlingly black mask.

Before Christine could wonder further, the man shouted, "All in the First Company must report to the camp immediately!" He paused as Christine took in his deep and pure voice with wonderment, surprised at the intensity but the undeniable beauty of it. "Continue," he said, before turning around and exiting the tavern followed closely by the knights, many of them prying themselves from the courtesans entertaining them and the rest absentmindedly dropping their tankards on the tables, the alcohol within splashing onto the floor and tabletops.

"My lady, are you feeling well?" Christine heard Margaret say gently, taking her arm from behind her. "You look discomforted and…"

Turning quickly, Christine uttered, "I feel to retire, Margaret," before rushing off of the stage and back to her room. She hadn't realized just how much the man's entrance had astounded her. To have that kind of strength over a group of people! Christine could not imagine it. But the strength he'd clearly had over her…she didn't have to imagine.

Once in her room, Margaret close behind, Christine shut the door and collapsed into a chair. "Christine!" Margaret cried, hurrying to her. Pouring some wine from a bottle on the table into a goblet, Margaret held it out to Christine and continued, "You're not well!"

Christine drank deeply of the wine Margaret offered her before murmuring, "I shouldn't feel this way, should I?"

Margaret looked at her, confused. "What is it that you feel?"

"Th-that man who came into the tavern during my song startled me so! I feel as though he has overtaken my mind with that one glance, Margaret. Surely it's wrong! Nothing that felt so exhilarating and impassioned could be proper!" Christine stuttered, taking another long sip of wine.

Rolling her eyes, Margaret replied, " 'twas only a look, Christine." She paused a moment before reaching out and pulling the goblet from Christine's hands. "I think you've been drinking a tad too much wine, my lady. It is not helpful to your health, and what would Sir Raoul think if you were reunited half-asleep?"

Christine chuckled, grateful for Margaret's keen sense of others, as well as her knack for humor. "'Tis a pleasure to be in your company, Margaret, and I hope you know how much I value it. You are the only friend I have," she said wistfully. "You and William, but he is of no use at his age!" Christine continued, referring to her twelve-year-old half-brother whom she loved and adored with all of her heart, almost more of a mother to him than his own mother, Christine's stepmother Lucille, though it was no surprise.

Lucille harbored no good feelings for her stepdaughter from the moment she arrived on Christine's father's manor. The serfs and servants had all stopped when they saw the extravagant carriage which bore the seal of the Lord of Westover and Christine had raced out to see the hubbub. Her father, only recently a widower, stepped before his young daughter to help a well-dressed dark-haired woman from the Westover carriage, kissing her hand and leading her towards his home. When young Christine had pulled on her father's shirt, hoping beyond all else that he would acknowledge her and introduce her to the woman, Lucille responded coldly, "You _must_ take care of that child, Gerard! Pulling on men's shirts will do her no good!" before practically dragging Gerard into the manor house.

William was born not a year later and he, unlike his mother, adored Christine. She helped to raise him from a young age, though she herself was a child, and became the one he would go to whenever a problem would arise. And so, as Christine slipped into her nightgown with Margaret's help, though she still thought on the look of the knight in the tavern doorway, she couldn't help but think of how wonderful it would be to return to the brother she loved so dearly, even if it meant giving up the life and hobby that she coveted.

* * *

**References:**

1. _Places:_ This is set in a fictional part of Europe during the Middle Ages. Therefore, Eaton, Chagny, Stanwood and Westover were not real places to the best of my knowledge. Therefore, all of the characters and their various positions are fictional as well.

2. _The Middle Ages:_ Also called the Dark Ages and the Medieval Period, the Middle Ages is traditionally considered as beginning with the division of the Roman Empire in the 5th Century AD and, depending on the source you work from, ending with either the Black Death in the 14th Century AD or the Protestant Reformation in the 16th Century AD, or simply with the date of the beginning of the Renaissance, sometime within those 2 centuries. This is, of course, all relative as periods of history cannot be marked exactly and there is much overlap. As well, there is no exact date for this story as it is fictional, but it takes place sometime during this period.

3. _Feudalism:_ This was the political/social/economic system of Medieval Europe based on the idea of lords, vassals, knights, serfs and the manor. The wealthiest lords were the highest rank (before the advent of monarchy) and owned a large amount of land on which their own personal land, the manor, was situated. Each lord had below him varying numbers of vassals, or lesser lords, and the vassals had their own vassals and so on. However, vassals could be "shared" between lords, which would cause conflicts if the higher lords were ever in conflict (this may or may not be of importance in the story, but, as in the reading, with Erik's mother's death, Eaton's affiliation with Stanwood was lost, so it has to be assumed that her family had another affiliation to keep them going). Vassals also had manors, though the size of it varied with their wealth and standing amongst the vassals. Manors were self-sufficient and housed on them serfs, peasants tied to the land. It was a system by birth, so if you were born a serf, you remained a serf on the same plot of land for your whole life, and so on. There were also servants in the lord's household, though they were not necessarily bound to them as serfs were. The armies of the lords were made up of knights, but I hope you know what those are!

4. _Christine's Song:_ The lyrics of Christine's song are, ahem, borrowed from _Aida_. They come specifically from the song "The Gods Love Nubia" (yes, it's a gospel song…don't laugh) and I don't own it. I don't make any profit from using the lyrics.

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	3. II: Res

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **Hello from hot and sunny Florida and a very Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! Thank you so much for the continued support of this story; if it were not for all of the wonderful compliments and constructive criticisms I wouldn't be able to continue with my work, so I thank you!

I'm glad that the synopsis of _Aida_ was helpful, but remember that the story will not be exactly like that, nor will it be exactly like_ Phantom_, so use it as a comparison to this one, not as the be-all and end-all source for the plot I'll be creating.

Last, but certainly not least, I thank my fabulous friend and Beta **DonJuanTriumphs** for once again helping me make this story wonderful. I love her very much and hope that you will all go and enjoy her work as much as I do!

References are at the end of the chapter…please read them!

Have a very happy end of the holiday season and enjoy the last week of 2006!

**Happy reading and please review!**

**NSLJ

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**Caput II – Res**

Erik made his way back into the town under the dark cover of the night, making his way along the winding streets until he was only a few hundred paces from the tavern. It was when he came to a full stop that he realized he had been running, his breath coming in faster spurts as he regained his composure. There was something about that woman…Erik didn't know what it was, but he had every intention of finding out. Too long had he been cast aside by visiting lords as Sir Arnold's deformed son. Too long had he been turned away by every family whose daughter he hoped to be a suitor for. Too long had he been Fortune's fool.

Suddenly, Erik had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Drawing his sword with frightening speed, Erik whirled around, only to find his sword pointed directly at the knight who had come to him on the hill earlier. The man seemed to cringe under Erik's harsh green gaze, fearing the man who led him in battle. "Spying, are we?" Erik snarled, replacing his sword in its scabbard at his side and grabbing the collar of the knight's tunic, drawing him closer and staring fiercely at him. "Well?"

"M-m-my l-lord, I…" the knight stuttered, lost for words. Erik dropped the man from his harsh grip and he stumbled on the ground.

"You have no business here," Erik stated coldly, turning to look at the tavern once again.

"Neither do you," the knight replied, daring to contradict his leader. Erik spun around and stared down the knight once again.

"You dare speak to me in such a fashion?" he roared, stalking towards the knight, who began to back up to keep his distance. "What is your name?"

"Joseph Buquet, my lord," the knight said to Erik, bowing at the waist to his leader. As Buquet rose, Erik took a more lasting look at him, more than he'd done on the hill earlier. He was not overly good-looking but he was clearly well-trained and Erik couldn't have weaklings among his father's elite knights.

"And why, Sir Buquet, might you have been following me after dark? Is there something you find it urgent for me to know?" Erik continued to stare harshly upon Buquet, hoping that some intimidation would glean from him his motives.

"You've been acting strangely, my lord, ever since this eve in the tavern. 'Tis not like you, my lord, and your father ordered us as knights to protect you as you would protect any among us." Erik's temper flared.

"You mean to suggest, Buquet, that I am incapable of defending myself, aye?" Buquet opened his mouth to speak but there were voices in the alleyway and Erik slapped a large gloved hand over the smaller man's mouth. "Stay silent, you fool, lest you wish to be dismissed as my father's knight," Erik whispered coldly, releasing Buquet, and the man nodded.

Peering around the corner towards the tavern, Erik saw two men standing guard at a side door both looking quite tired and drunk. They seemed to be having a dull conversation and Erik, looking to Buquet and nodding to him to follow, snuck out towards their posts, drawing his sword from its scabbard. In one swift stroke of his blade, Erik had beheaded the first knight, the body falling on the dirt of the street. The fallen knight's companion stared at the menacing armed figure before him, clearly frightened.

Erik grabbed the second knight roughly and asked him forcefully, "Whose door do you guard so unprepared?" Glancing down at the knight's tunic, Erik registered that the symbol of the Lord of Chagny, a dove holding an acorn, was prominently displayed on the right side of the knight's chest. "Chagny sends guards only to secure precious treasures, I'm sure you are well aware," Erik continued, drawing the knight up to his level. "What treasure could be so precious as to be hidden away behind this door?

A sense of accomplishment began to wash over Erik as the knight prepared to speak, but it was replaced with a feeling of anger when the knight yelled, "Attack!" Before Erik had dropped Chagny's knight completely on the ground, he was surrounded by more, dozens of them. Erik could feel Buquet draw his sword as well and it was a matter of seconds before they were engaged in blade-on-blade combat.

Erik had always prided himself in his swordsmanship; he was no stranger to a blade and had had one at his side since the time he was ten years of age. Though he was a large man, Erik moved with a startling agility and grace, slashing at the enemy smoothly and quickly, never once faltering. Faltering, however, was not the problem.

It was not a minute after Erik and Buquet had been engaged in fighting that Erik realized how drastically outnumbered they were. He himself had faced many a large group of knights but never without armor and in the dark. It was this realization that sent both Erik and Buquet tumbling to the ground.

Feeling a boot on his chest, Erik looked upward to see the knight from the doorway standing over him, eyes blazing with fury and vengeance. "They're Eaton's knights," he said loudly to his companions, all of them snickering, and Erik tried desperately to get up and, though he knew he was capable of it, he was roughly rewarded with a sharp kick to his side. There was silence, and then the knight continued, "They must be rewarded for their allegiance to the Lord of Eaton." He stared down into Erik's face, smiling wickedly. "Kill them."

The onslaught of Chagny's knights was relentless. Erik felt sharp pain in his legs from the knights' boots and then cold air on his face as his mask was ripped away. He smelled blood, his own, permeating the air, feeling it trickle down the mangled side of his face as a boot connected with his head. There were so many sites of contact that Erik could barely feel where he was being hurt any longer. How had he let this happen? Their number had seemed so manageable; how had it come to this?

Erik felt himself losing consciousness and tried ever harder to push himself off of the ground, to find his sword, anything to help in an attempt to save his life only to be kicked back onto the ground. The scene before him, already blurry with sweat and blood, began to swim and Erik's hearing became almost nonexistent. Suddenly, it felt as though everything had gone silent and motionless; was this what it felt like to die?

Somebody was speaking in a sweet and soft voice and Erik, once again feeling as if God had forsaken him, couldn't help but wonder if it was His voice that spoke, or that of an angel. The last thing he remembered before slipping away into unconsciousness was a small, pale face and a cool hand on his cheek, all blurry before his eyes.

* * *

Christine couldn't sleep. Margaret had retired to her own smaller room beside Christine's after she'd helped her into her bed and now Christine lay alone in the cool chamber, sleep evading her. She'd close her eyes, if only for a second, and be met with the intense emerald eyes of the knight in the tavern doorway. She couldn't go on like this; it had to be unhealthy and improper.

Rising from the mattress, Christine walked quietly across the room, lighting a candle to illuminate her work. She first poured herself another goblet of wine, hoping that the alcohol would make quick work of her lack of sleep, and then turned to a pile of parchment and writing supplies at the table. Christine sat down and drew an inkwell, quill and piece of parchment towards her, drinking deeply of the wine before setting the goblet beside her. She dipped the quill into the ink and thought of what to write.

She couldn't write to William, for he would be naïve to her problems and wouldn't want to hear about the uninteresting travels of his older sister. She certainly couldn't write to her father, for he was bound to be so preoccupied with Lucille and William that he wouldn't care for her words. And Lucille? Never would Christine write to her stepmother of her own volition, not if Lucifer threatened to carry her off to the inferno of Hell.

The only other person she had was Raoul. But writing to him...she hadn't spoken to him in years! _He is my betrothed…_ Settling on Raoul, Christine began to write, the ink scripted onto the parchment and drying within a few seconds. She stopped after a quick greeting; what to write to this man? Surely what they'd had in common in their youth would be irrelevant now? She could not tell her mother's silly fairytales of dragons and damsels in distress, nor could she allude to the desirable knight in shining armor her mother had promised her, for that would certainly insult her fiancé.

Christine took another long drink from her goblet of wine, more of a gulp that was the most unladylike thing she'd done in at least the last few months. Well, if one did not include staring wide-eyed at the knight in the tavern as unladylike behavior.

Christine's despairing over lack of a topic for her letter was interrupted when she heard a commotion outside. She rose from her chair at the table and hurried to the back door of her room leading out onto the street. Pressing an ear to the door, Christine could hear the jeers of many men and various thuds and curses. At first, she opened the door just a crack, enough to see men standing on what seemed the edges of a larger group, yelling and cursing towards the center of their group. Propping the door open just a bit more, Christine could tell that there were many more men than she'd initially anticipated, a large mass of knights all surrounding one common interest in the center of the group.

"Kill them!"

Christine stepped back in shock, the door falling closed, as she heard the words of the knights, their cries echoing in the dark night. The knights commissioned by her father and the Lord of Chagny to protect her traveling party were seeing to the death of someone…more than one! Against all forms of fighting and warfare, Christine resolved to save whoever was being hurt before it was too late for them, thrusting the door open and running out onto the darkened street behind the mass of knights.

"Stop!" she cried shrilly, pushing her way through the mostly passive knights on the edge of the group. "I command you!" Surprisingly, the first men Christine encountered obeyed her, stepping aside as she worked her way towards the group's center. Somehow she pushed her way into the inner circle of men, seeing on the ground the body of one of Chagny's knights, clearly void of life with its head severed from its body, and the still-moving bodies of two others not her own, bloodied and twisted on the dirt street.

The commotion stopped as the knights most involved in hurting the men on the ground noticed Christine's presence and backed away. Lifting her gaze from the pitiful forms of the knights on the ground, Christine cried, "How dare you hurt these men? And outside my chambers too!" Her bright blue eyes sparkled with a fire that the men could clearly see meant that the petite singer was fully serious. "You should all feel shame for what you've done! The Lord of Chagny will be hearing about this!" The knights backed away even more, not wanting to meddle in Christine's clear anger.

Descending to the ground, Christine knelt beside the larger of the two figures and examined him quickly. Christine could sense that both he and his companion were still alive, and she could see that the man she was beside was still awake, for his eyes were cracked open only slightly, though she was unsure as to how long his consciousness would last. Black matted hair was stuck to his face in odd places, half of it wet and shining with blood. His clothes were torn in all places, revealing large wounds on his chest and legs. Christine then stared into the man's face, seeing blood everywhere and the right side of his face ravaged. _They could not have done that…_ It was in that moment that Christine realized that it was the man who she had been so entranced by in the tavern, reduced to a bloody broken heap on the ground.

Gently, Christine reached a hand out and touched the man's cheek, her fingertips marked red with his blood. However, before she could offer any soothing words to the broken man before her, the crowd of knights parted once again to reveal Margaret and some men of the tavern. Margaret was clearly beside herself with worry and she immediately grabbed Christine by the arm, pulling her up from the ground and into her embrace. "Oh, Christine, I heard the commotion and I was so worried for you when I didn't find you in your chambers! I…"

"Hush, Margaret," Christine whispered to her lady-in-waiting, caressing the woman's back comfortingly. Over Margaret's shoulder, Christine watched as the tavern men examined the two living bodies on the ground. Both were severely wounded and clearly clinging to life and Christine felt as though her heart was being ripped in two. Moving Margaret away from her, Christine said strongly, "They will be brought into the tavern and tended to with the best care this town can offer them."

"Lady Christine," one of the tavern men said, walking towards her, "they are the sworn enemies of the Lord of Chagny, our benefactor and yours. Surely you would not…" Christine thrust out a hand, motioning for the man to stop talking, but he continued. "If the Lord of Chagny was to find out, he'd have every one of us killed. We are not traitors, my lady."

Pursing her lips, Christine said boldly, "Nor are we animals," before turning on her heel and walking inside, Margaret trailing behind her. Christine could sense the movement of the two men's bodies behind her as she walked through the hallways of the tavern until she found an empty room. She and Margaret took to lighting enough candles to fully illuminate the room as the group of men from the tavern brought in the two bodies and laid them on cots by the back wall of the room.

As Margaret hurried to fetch water, Christine slowly moved towards the injured men, noticing as she went that all of the other people in the room were staying as far away as possible, as if seeing them being helped was treason enough. Christine knelt at the bedside of the man she recognized from earlier and gently grasped his large bloodied hand in her own small and clean one, softly caressing his palm with her fingers. Looking up, Christine examined the symbol of the Lord of Eaton on his chest, the rose and lion elegantly embroidered still though the fabric on which it was sewn was in tatters.

Christine immediately released her grip and rose as Margaret, accompanied by a very tired-looking man, entered the room. The man made his way to Christine, as she was the closest to the two injured men, and he bowed to her. "My lady, I am Sir Dominic Vanderbilt and I am the town surgeon."

Curtsying properly, Christine replied, "Lady Christine of Dalton, fiancée of Sir Raoul of Chagny. You are here to help these men?" Christine looked at Sir Vanderbilt expectantly, her blue eyes flashing.

"Aye, my lady, 'tis what I've been summoned to do," the surgeon said, moving past Christine to the men's bedsides. "Have you any further knowledge of these men other than their overlord's identity?" Christine shook her head and Sir Vanderbilt let out a sigh. "I ask that I be left alone with these men to tend to them. I cannot work with an audience." Nodding to him, Christine led the assembled people out of the room and Margaret closed the door when all had exited.

Turning to return to her room to rest, Christine was met with Sir Richard, the leader of the Lord of Chagny's troops sent to protect her. He did not bother with any formal introduction and merely began spouting off at Christine. "Do you realize what you've done, Lady Christine?" His face was full of anger and his whole body was shaking with it.

"Aye, I do," Christine replied sharply, "and I intend to stand behind it." Christine tried to pass Sir Richard but he grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her in front of him. "Unhand me!"

"Lady Christine, you are the fiancée of Sir Raoul and you see fit to provide aide for his father's most sworn enemies? How dare you?" Sir Richard was practically screaming and Christine was sure he'd wake half of the tavern's occupants with his ranting.

"How dare I?" Christine responded, raising her voice to match his and pushing away from his vice-like grip. "How dare you, telling me what to do as though I'm some common servant? Have you no sense…" Christine was fully prepared to shout quite improper insults at Sir Richard when Margaret's voice interrupted her, her hands on Christine's arms, pulling her away.

"My lady, please," Margaret said, her voice strained, "you must have some sleep. 'Tis unhealthy, my lady." Glaring at Sir Richard, his chest still heaving from his outburst, Christine walked off down the corridor with Margaret at her side, heart and mind racing. Once they were out of earshot of the rest, Margaret stopped Christine and said, "You're playing with fire, Christine, helping these men. I do not want you to be hurt!"

"Margaret," Christine murmured soothingly, "I am fully capable of taking care of myself if Sir Raoul or his father finds any fault in my actions. As it stands, these men need care and I would not want to be held responsible if they were to die because I did not give them the help that they deserved." Margaret's eyes showed her disapproval of Christine's actions, but Christine continued, "They will go as servants to the Lord of Chagny's manor. Certainly I am not at fault for offering him more hands to care for him and his family!"

With a tremendous sigh, Margaret took Christine's arm and they hastened to her chamber. "You are justified, Christine," the lady-in-waiting said softly. "You always are." Christine blushed as Margaret led her to her chamber, turning to go to her own. "Sleep well, my lady; tomorrow we depart for Chagny! You will see…"

"…my fiancé," Christine interjected, smiling at Margaret and closing the door as her lady-in-waiting walked away. Sitting at the table, Christine ran her fingertips, some still tinged red with blood, along the letter she'd intended for Sir Raoul. "My fiancé."

* * *

Raoul walked the halls of the Chagny manor house, his mind racing as he clutched the letter in his hands. The top of the piece of parchment was already wearing thin from the multiple times he'd pressed his lips to it, hoping to feel some of the warmth that he soon would in person, though the letter was not in the hand of she who he so anticipated.

The letter from Lord Gerard of Dalton had arrived just that morning by horseback along with the first pieces of what would be an impressive dowry. Raoul, just home from a campaign along his father's eastern borders, had been asleep in his chambers when the message was brought to him by one of his father's servants. Upon seeing the name scripted on its front, he practically tore the parchment open with excitement. He may have had twenty-three years to his name, but he was beyond acting his own age with regards to the letter's topic.

Christine was returning home.

Christine had been his childhood playmate, frolicking together on the common land between the Chagny and Dalton manors. Raoul and Christine had always been aware, even in their younger years, of Raoul's superior position; the Lord of Chagny was wealthier and more powerful than the Lord of Dalton, who owed him allegiance as his most trusted vassal and the prestige of such a position was great. It was due to this alliance that the children of the two lords became companions.

When Christine began traveling to sing at the age of ten, Raoul, then fifteen, had been devastated. Over the years he had taken on the role of her guardian when they would spend time together and her departure shattered him. No longer would he feel the importance that flooded him each time he was with her. Christine's blue gaze upon him had never failed to make him feel like the noblest knight in all of Europe, and secretly he'd hoped that one day it would be true.

Five years later, on the eve of his departure for his first mission among his father's knights, a parcel had arrived from the Lord of Dalton and it turned out to be a recently-painted portrait of Christine, his beloved only daughter. Raoul, busy preparing, had not seen the painting but word quickly spread through the manor's various servants that there was a painting of an angel with glorious earthen curls, creamy white skin and piercing blue eyes. Finally, Raoul succumbed to their words and hurried to see what it was they spoke of, only to be met with a painting of the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

It was no shock that the woman was Christine, his Christine. In the five years of their separation, Raoul had forgotten just how beautiful she had been at her young age of ten, but when he saw the painting there was no doubt in his mind that the friend of his youth had matured into the "angel" of which the manor staff spoke.

But there had been no time to think or speak of Christine, for in the morn he departed with a group of his father's knights, not to return for nigh two years. There were nights in those two years when Raoul, trying desperately to sleep in his tent, would allow his thoughts to wander to her, but they only tormented him and made resting more difficult. He had fallen in love with her beauty, he knew, and despaired that he may never have the chance to love the real thing.

Upon returning to his father's manor with hostages from the Lord of Eaton's manor, Raoul hoped to quell some of his longing for Christine, though he knew that anything he might do would only make the matter worse. Then he met Margaret.

One of the hostages from Eaton, Margaret was nearly killed when she was captured, putting up a fight and being beaten down. Raoul, horrified and offended that the knights would harm an innocent woman, had saved her, promising her a better life if she cooperated. Once back at the Chagny manor, Raoul looked upon Margaret in a new light; she was not nearly as breathtaking as Christine, but she was quite beautiful, her blonde hair and delicate features seemingly making her glow. Raoul did not hide that he had taken a liking to her, assigning her whenever he had the chance to the most clean places in the manor house, and the easiest to tend.

Raoul realized that Margaret had noticed her master's favoritism but she did not approach him about it until a few months after her arrival. "My lord?" she'd said, addressing him. Raoul had risen from where he sat, beckoning for her to continue. "My lord, I have felt so blessed since I came here to have the minimal work you assign to me. You have truly kept your promise and I am grateful," she said, curtsying.

Reaching out a hand to touch her cheek, Raoul said softly, "You remind me of someone I once knew, someone who I love very dearly, and it helps me to get through each day." Margaret's eyes had gone wide when Raoul's fingertips had brushed her cheek, terrified. "There is no need to fear me, Margaret. I do not believe in dishonoring what is not mine and you do not belong to me alone." The maid still showed signs of nervousness at her master's words, and Raoul didn't fail to take notice, dismissing her and allowing her to take leave of the room.

The following morning, Raoul was breakfasting with his father when he said, "The Lord of Dalton is paying us a visit this evening, Raoul. You'd do best to clean yourself up." Raoul's eyes widened and shot to his father at the mention of Christine's father.

"The Lord of Dalton?" Raoul replied, trying to sound calm and indifferent.

"Aye," his father responded, "and he is bringing with him news of his daughter." The Lord of Chagny winked at his only son and Raoul blushed, realizing that his father was aware of his feelings for Christine. "Do not fret, my son," he chuckled, rising from the table and walking to his child's side. "With any luck, she will be yours."

Luck must've been with him during the Lord of Dalton's visit, for by the end of the evening his father's vassal departed with the promise of writing to his daughter to inform her of the arrangements made. She would return home in a few months time to wed Sir Raoul of Chagny. Raoul was beside himself with joy at this prospect and immediately informed his father that he wished to bestow his future bride with a gift to show is utter devotion to her.

"That is your decision, my son," the Lord of Chagny had said, patting his son on the shoulder. "But remember, a man must treat his woman with the utmost respect and care for that is how he expects her to treat him. Be wise with your words to her." He'd written a letter to her that he'd send with his gift, and he knew just what it would be.

"My lord, you wish to be rid of me?" Margaret had said when Raoul informed her that she would be departing to meet up with Christine and her entourage.

Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, Raoul said, "You remember how I told you that you reminded me of a person I hold very dear?" Margaret nodded. "You will be in the service of such a person, and I swear by God that she will treat you well and even better than I ever could hope to." Margaret had agreed and was soon packing her few belongings to accompany a group of his father's knights that would reinforce Christine's guard on their journey.

On the morning of the group's departure, a letter had arrived from the Lord of Dalton that Christine had accepted the proposal and Raoul felt as though he was flying. He bade farewell to Margaret and the group of knights leaving with her before running out to one of his father's gardens and screaming with joy. He would marry Christine! She would come to love him and treasure him as he did her, he was sure of it, and they would be happy together for the rest of their days.

Three months later, the letter he was now clutching in his hands had arrived from the Lord of Dalton, stating that Christine had completed her final engagement as a traveling singer and would be home at Dalton within the month. Raoul was beside himself with joy but also with nervousness. And so it was that he found himself pacing the hallways of the Chagny manor house, wondering what he would say and how he would act towards the woman he loved so deeply and truly and hoping against hope that she was wondering the same thing about him. Women, he'd realized as he'd grown, looked as though they'd swoon upon meeting him for the first time and he was flattered by the compliments of his shining flaxen hair and blue eyes, and he found himself wishing that Christine, having not seen him in many years, would feel the same. _God, I do not ask for much for I have been granted such blessings already. But God, the one thing I want above all else is for her to love me as I do her. Grant me this and I will be forever in your service.

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_

**References:**

1. _Symbolism:_ The symbols of Eaton and Chagny were chosen with a purpose; the dove and acorn of Chagny represent peace and immortality while the lion and rose of Eaton represent strength, seduction and resurrection.

2. _Characters_: The character of Joseph Buquet will take the place of Nehebka in _Aida_ and Gerard and Lucille will be taking the place of Zoser (it will be a combination). Naturally, the Lord of Chagny will then represent Pharaoh. This is pretty much it for different _Aida_ characters, so other extraneous characters have no correspondence to either show.

9


	4. III: Dialectica

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **First off, Happy New Year 2007! I hope that this year is filled with many wonderful things for each and every one of you!

Secondly, I apologize profusely for the wait on this chapter – what with returning to regular life after the holidays and a bit of writer's block, this was put on hold for a bit to let me get back into the "groove" of things. This chapter may have been long in coming, but I really enjoyed writing it once I got around to it and love that it sets much up for later chapters. But remember, this is only based on _Aida_, so do not expect it to be a plot clone, because it's not.

And, of course, thank you to the awesome **DonJuanTriumphs**, my beloved Beta. She's found time to work on my writing even though she's knee-deep in her own, so that just goes to show you how amazing she is!

References are at the end, as always.

**Happy reading and please review!**

**NSLJ

* * *

**

**Caput III – Dialectica**

Erik awoke to the feeling of a cold cloth on his forehead, the fabric rough but oddly soothing. He kept his eyes closed, unconsciously clenching his fists from the pain that wracked his body. His head hurt and he felt as though he couldn't breathe or move, as if he would lie motionless forever, frozen in time as a broken body. Was he in some other dimension of space or time, on the very steps of Heaven or on the threshold of Hell?

Suddenly, cool skin touched one of his clenched knuckles and Erik realized as he winced from the contact just how hot and feverish his body must be if the unknown person was so cold to touch. Before he could relax, small fingers brushed against his left cheek, gently and tenderly. Afraid that if he opened his eyes he would come to the realization that he had, in fact, reached some otherworldly kingdom, Erik squeezed them tighter shut._ My mask…_

Erik's eyes flew open as his hand went to the right side of his face. Pain coursed through his upper body at the sudden motion, but he felt some type of mask or bandage covering the right part of his face and was soothed at the thought. The figure that had been stroking his face was no longer at his bedside and he turned to face where it had been, his vision blurred.

It was the pale figure he'd seen before he'd passed out! Surely she was an angel and he had made it to God's Kingdom at long last. Then why did he still feel pain? With death all pain vanished, surely? Erik let his arm fall back to his side, wincing again, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut once again, a lone tear dripping down the side of his face. It was not heartbreak, for he had not wished to die in the first place, but there was something odd and emasculating about not knowing where he was or who was with him that made Erik wish he was no longer living.

Erik felt the cool hand of the pale figure remove the cold cloth from his head and replace it with a new one, then leaving his bedside. Something about this unknown entity made Erik desire its presence, and he so called for it, surely startling whatever or whomever it was. "Come back," he managed to cry hoarsely.

At his command, Erik heard rustling on the floor of a woman's skirts and so opened his eyes, wishing to look upon his caretaker who had returned to him. Though he could not see out of his right eye due to the bandages that thankfully covered the wretched side of his face, Erik's left eye scanned the room, coming to rest on the only other person in the room.

At first, the body of his companion was a blur of navy fabric, pale skin and a mass of dark hair, but as his eyesight came into focus, Erik was hit with the startling realization that she who was tending to him was the woman he'd sought the previous night. Was it even the previous night? How long had he been unconscious? Did she recognize him too?

So caught up in contemplating his current situation, Erik barely realized that the woman had inched closer to him and was looking into his visible eye, the sparkling blue of her irises intensified in her close proximity to him. "Hello," she said quietly, reaching out a small hand and adjusting the cloth on his head. Erik let the gentleness of her voice, smooth and clear, wash over him and he felt more at ease.

"Hello," he managed to reply roughly, blinking the remnants of bleariness from his eyes to bring the woman more into focus, for she was even more breathtaking up close. He could see the shape of her body now, though not fully as she was on the floor. From what he could make out, she was petite in height and shape with a long slim torso giving way to gently rounded hips. Her neck and collarbone, revealed by her dress, were elegant and the creamy skin of them gave way to a modest amount of cleavage that was only a hint as to the young and rounded breasts beneath the fabric.

But once again, what captivated him most was her face, the pale rose of her cheeks, the graceful arch of her eyebrows, her thick lashes framing those startling eyes and her lusciously smooth lips. What he would give in that moment to have been strong of body and able to take her into his arms, into his bed, and kiss her and touch her and feel such beauty against him! _You don't even know her!_

Trying not to think of the woman tending to him in such a manner, Erik tried to focus on simply her kindness. That, however, proved to be an avenue for more improper thoughts about her to make their way into his mind; she was smiling at him. It was not a grand smile, one to be noticed by all, but a gentle, affectionate pull on the corners of her lips as she sat beside Erik's bed, her fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin of his arm absentmindedly. Erik watched as the woman's eyes seemed to glass over, as if she was on the verge of tears, before she rose from beside him, removing the cloth from his head and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead to check that he did not carry a fever.

"How do you feel?" she questioned him as she removed her hand, seeming to be satisfied with his progress.

"Broken," Erik murmured as she replaced the cloth to make sure that any good health stayed that way. The smile on the woman's face faded a bit, her lips no longer upturned but in nearly a straight line. "Am I?" he continued, wondering as to the extent of his injuries. He felt as though every bone in his body was shattered, every inch of skin and muscle torn.

"Quite," the woman responded solemnly, taking Erik's left hand and beginning to remove a bandage on his wrist to check what had to be a wound of some kind. As she did so, carefully minding the other cuts and bruises on Erik's arm, Erik felt a sincere relief; he had expected, after all he'd been through, to have been a downright fool when conversing with a woman of the beauty that graced his caretaker. And yet speaking with her came naturally and the serenity that came with that feeling of ease was a delight. "You are lucky to have survived."

She had nearly finished removing the bandage when Erik grabbed her tiny hand in his much larger one. "It is because of you that I have survived," he said softly, seeing a soft crimson blush rising to the woman's cheeks, her lips once again turning upwards ever so slightly.

"Aye," she replied, her voice nearly inaudible. Erik noticed that, instead of pulling her hand away, she used her other hand to unwrap the bandage completely, allowing him to continue his grip on her.

Once again, Erik stopped her work. "I remember you," he said, his voice getting stronger with use. Using the grip on her hand, Erik managed to sit up on the pillows behind him so he was more upright. From his new vantage point, Erik could look directly into the woman's crystalline blue eyes and was surprised to find them still glassy with tears.

Tugging her hand away, the woman responded coolly, "I try to avoid familiarity with strange unclothed men in beds," as she stood up, and Erik found himself suppressing a chuckle at her words, though it finally became apparent to him that he was completely nude beneath the blankets and that those that had been covering his chest had fallen away when he'd sat up. Looking up at the woman, he saw her blush darken, the pale red spreading to the top of her chest at the thought of being alone in a room with a naked man. "Lie down," she ordered him, her voice a bit colder and stronger. "I must change some of your bandages."

Following her instructions, Erik settled down on the bed once again as the woman returned to him with water and clean bandages and started replacing the one she'd removed on his wrist, first gently cleansing the gash and then beginning to wrap it. A minute passed in uncomfortable silence before Erik asked, "Might I inquire as to the name of my heroine?"

The woman's blue eyes fell on Erik's green ones, insecurity reflected in them. Blushing again, she quickly replied, "I told you that I avoid…"

"I know," Erik interrupted her, "but I wish to thank you properly for your kindness." As she tied up the second bandage she'd been working on, the woman let out a lengthy sigh.

Finally, the woman replied, "My name is Christine, though you need not thank me properly; there will be no others to thank for this." She bent across Erik's chest to grab his other arm to replace the bandages there, and Erik let her words sink in. "And yourself?"

Erik opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it. He was torn now; that he now knew the name of the woman who had bewitched him with one look was a monumental joy, but she could not know who he was or he'd surely be killed if word got out. The Lord of Eaton's son taken hostage and murdered by the Lord of Chagny's knights? Unthinkable! "Erik," he responded, hoping that his name alone would not be enough to distinguish him. Christine – oh, to be able to think her name! – smiled softly at his response, tending carefully to his wounds. "Where does such kindness hail from, Lady Christine?" Erik asked, loving the feeling of her name on his lips.

"It's best that we go no further than names, Sir Erik," Christine replied, tying off the bandage and moving on to another.

Erik furrowed his brow. He had not expected that Christine was more than the tavern's singer who was courageous enough to spring to his rescue and then care for him, but with her reluctance to say anything more about herself, Erik was tormented with the feeling that maybe she was associated with another. "Are you with them?" he asked a little too harshly, hoping she would know what he meant by "them." The look of nervousness on her face that followed his words confirmed his thoughts. "You are." Christine turned to look at him, fear apparent in each movement and in each part of her body.

"They would have left you and your companion to die," Christine whispered, clearly afraid of the outcome of her response. "I did not. Does that make me one of them in your eyes?" She seemed intimidated as she spoke, and Erik wondered to himself if it could work to his advantage.

"Any other man in my company would easily pull you beneath him should he be where I am now. I have not. Does that make me one of them in yours?" Christine rose abruptly, hastily finishing the bandage she'd been working on.

Sharply she said, "According to your assumptions of me, then the answer is, 'aye, you are one of them.' You contemplate dishonoring me when I've done nothing but help you and that makes you far worse than the men in your company who would brutally ravish me without a second thought." The fragile-looking woman Erik had seen in the tavern had disappeared in Christine, only to be replaced by a distraught caretaker.

Christine let out a yelp as Erik roughly grabbed her wrist and pulled her down so she was half-across his chest. "Would you rather I be worse than my men by your logic?" he growled at her, pain shooting up and down his arm and through his chest from grabbing her so forcefully.

"It is not my logic, it is yours!" Christine whimpered, though her voice, however pained, showed her anger. "You would not dare to…"

"I swear to you that I am strong enough even now to inflict upon you whatever I so choose and you could not oppose me," Erik snarled, strengthening his grip on Christine's arm though his injured body was screaming at him to stop.

"I find that difficult to believe," Christine snapped back, twisting Erik's arm in a particularly sensitive spot and making him jerk away from her, giving her time to stand up. "I have saved your life, and that of your fellow knight and you will do as I ask in return, not the opposite." Turning on her heel, Christine moved towards the door and stopped to add, "You will go as servants to the Lord of Chagny's manor; if you find me a reason why that is a less fortunate fate than being put to death I assure you that a change can be arranged." With that, Christine hurried from the room, leaving Erik with his own thoughts and pain.

* * *

Closing the door behind her, Christine let herself fall back against the wood of it, breathing heavily. It was as if in leaving the room she could loosen her entire body; every moment that she had been in the room for the last day was tense as she wondered when he would awake. Now that he had, the tension had been released, only to be replaced with an even greater anxiety.

He had recognized her. Recognized her, Christine admitted to herself, as she had recognized him. As she walked down the hall towards the room in which Margaret was tending to the second knight, Christine felt her stomach churn in excitement; did this mean that he was as entranced by her as she was by him?

_Stop it! You are engaged to be married!_ Despite her better judgment, Christine thought on the man she was tending – Erik, as she now knew – and felt her cheeks redden at the compliments he'd given her when he'd first awoken. It could've been the drugs that Sir Vanderbilt had given him to help cure any infections, but Christine sincerely thought otherwise. _What would Raoul think of this?_

Before her musings could take her any further, Christine heard Margaret calling to her. "My lady, how is he?" she said, blonde wisps of hair falling out of the knot at the back of her head as she hurried to her mistress's side.

"How is whom?" Christine replied, feigning innocence. Margaret looked Christine straight in the eyes, clearly not in a mood for Christine's unwillingness to talk. "The knight?" she said, and Margaret nodded. "He has awoken, though is not in the best state of mind." Margaret eyed Christine with scrutiny, seeming to know that something was being hidden from her. "And his companion?" Christine continued quickly, stopping any attempt her lady-in-waiting might make to find out more about what had gone on.

"He awoke just this morning when I arrived to watch him," Margaret said evenly, continuing to look at her friend skeptically. "His wounds are healing nicely and he has responded to what I have said to him." She paused, and then asked Christine, "You say that the other is well?"

"Aye," Christine replied, trying to suppress the unnecessary thoughts that sprung forth when Erik was mentioned. "As I have said, he is not reacting pleasantly to his situation, but he responds and is healing well. His fever has broken, which is a good sign, at least," she said, sounding a bit out of breath after releasing what she'd fought hard not to say.

"Are you feeling well, Christine?" Margaret asked, leading Christine into her room and helping her to be seated. "You haven't looked quite well at all since last evening; is something the matter?" Christine shook her head, but Margaret persisted. "Has this to do with the knights? Perhaps the mayhem has not done you well." Nodding, Christine watched Margaret pour some water into a goblet for her, handing it off to her and watching as Christine drank.

As she drank, Christine could not help but feel awful for hiding what she knew of the knight Erik from Margaret. Her friend already knew of the emotions Christine had experienced after her performance, mostly to do with the knight in the doorway that she now knew personally, so in truth there was nothing to be hidden from her as she knew it all. "Margaret," Christine spoke, grabbing her lady-in-waiting's hand, and the blonde woman turned to face her, "he was the man from the tavern last evening."

"Pardon?" Margaret replied, her face showing her confusion.

"The man from the tavern, Margaret, the one who barged in at the end of my performance!" Margaret acknowledged the truth when her eyes went wide at Christine's words. Sinking back in the chair, Christine continued, mournfully, "Oh, I just knew that something like this would happen! I should not have paid him any attention at all during my performance, but I did! I could not resist – those eyes! They…"

"Hush now, my lady," Margaret said soothingly, gently stroking Christine's forehead. "You're distraught and are not thinking clearly." She continued her ministrations before softly continuing solemnly, "You feel a connection with him?" Since first laying eyes on Erik, Christine had not considered actually _feeling_ for him, not in the way that Margaret implied. But thinking on it, she could not help but realize that she undeniably sensed a connection between them and it worried her to her very depths. She was betrothed and knew that even glancing at men, if she were in the presence of her fiancé, would be completely forbidden, let alone looking at them the way she had locked eyes with Erik.

"I…don't know," Christine managed to say quietly, closing her eyes and trying desperately to focus on anything but the knight in the other room, but nothing prevailed over what were slowly becoming more sinful thoughts. The more that Erik came up in her mind, the more Christine realized how alike they were in ways other than their mutual fascination with one another. Though she knew not how old he was, he looked to be relatively young and was therefore raised under the same conditions she was when it came to his native Eaton and her native Chagny; the two lords were at constant war and things that stemmed from that interaction were a constant presence in daily life. He had preconceived notions of her and, Christine admitted to herself, she had some of him as well. What struck Christine most of all, however, was that they were both in the same place in their lives, moving into a new and foreign position that was strange and unavoidable; she was to be the wife of the future Lord of Chagny and Erik was to be his servant.

"We are not departing for another night, at least, Christine. Get some rest," Margaret stated. Christine sensed Margaret take leave of her room, allowing Christine to be alone with her exhaustion and ruminations, and, though she loved the woman dearly, Christine was relieved to hear her go; solitude was sometimes the best medicine. Unfortunately, Christine felt the distinct feeling wash over her that solitude from one another would not be in the future for herself and this mysterious Eaton knight called Erik.

* * *

"Father!" Raoul exclaimed, hurrying to the Lord of Chagny's bedside and kneeling on the floor as the various attendants receded. Grabbing his father's hand, Raoul continued, "What has happened?"

Heavy footsteps echoed behind Raoul and he turned his head to see Lord Gerard standing beside him, hands behind his back and face somber. "He took ill whilst at my manor this afternoon," the vassal said seriously, his face straight and unemotional. "I accompanied him back here and had your physicians tend to him." Raoul turned and looked up into the Lord of Dalton's face, eyeing him carefully to see if he would let loose any more about his father's ailing condition. Seeing Raoul's concern, the man continued, "He claimed a strong pain all over his body and collapsed in a chair, though the physicians have told me that he is not in any immediate danger and should return to himself within only a few days."

Rising, Raoul faced Lord Gerard and stated evenly, "You did not fetch me." For the day, Raoul had been off at the manor of the Lord of Newbury, another of his father's vassals, recruiting new young men to train as knights. The Newbury manor was not far from either that of Chagny or of Dalton, so it greatly offended Raoul that he had not been informed, as his father's only son and heir, of the Lord of Chagny's condition.

"My wife did not see it as pertinent to inform you," Lord Gerard continued, and Raoul fought back a look of utter disgust. Though he did not know much of Dalton's bride, Lady Lucille, Raoul knew from experience that she was greatly disliked by Christine, so he did not care for her either. "It would not sit well with your father if we disrupted you on such important business."

"No business is more important to me than the health and safety of my father," Raoul replied coldly, turning away from the Lord of Dalton to look at his father, clearly alive and well but also very worn-out. Breathing deeply, he turned back to the other man. "You know nothing of this?"

"Nay, I do not," he replied, maintaining his strict stance and watching carefully every move Raoul made. "If it would please you, Sir Raoul, I shall have it looked into." Raoul had resumed his position beside his father on the floor when he felt Lord Gerard's large rough hand on his shoulder in a far too fatherly move. "You have quite enough to worry about with my daughter's return approaching," he said, his voice still even and relatively monotone.

At mention of Christine, Raoul felt his heartbeat quicken and his mood shift almost as rapidly. Shaking off Lord Gerard's hand, Raoul stood again. Directing his words at Lord Gerard, though carefully avoiding his eyes, Raoul said, "See to it that he is well taken care of and do not leave his side until I return."

"Aye, Sir Raoul, it shall be done," Lord Gerard responded, bowing quickly as Raoul exited his father's chambers. Once out of earshot of the room, Raoul let out a long sigh, leaning back against one of the stone walls of the corridor. His father very rarely took ill, even in the cold, and Raoul could not avoid the immense feeling of worry. Though he did not often agree with Lord Gerard, he did concur that this was not what the Chagny manor needed at the present time. The entire manor, its inhabitants and its staff in full, was working nonstop to ensure that it was made to look and work its finest for its future mistress's arrival in the coming few weeks. Now, with its lord having taken to bed, there would be great tension amidst the chaos and Raoul was entirely unsure of how he would manage it without his father's positive influence.

Sensing his stomach voice its need for food, Raoul continued on down the corridor until he reached the staircase leading down to the main floor of the manor house and the kitchens. He walked the halls absentmindedly, his feet moving from years of practice, and finally found himself in the dining hall, close to his initial destination of some type of meal. As he rounded the corner to turn into the kitchens, he heard a voice behind him. "You are not tending to your father?"

Spinning around, Raoul saw Lady Lucille sitting in one of the high-backed chairs of the grand dining table. Though he would never have thought her beautiful, she was quite striking, with dark hair and nearly white skin, her eyes so deep a brown that they were almost black, and he was more than shocked when he saw her sitting at the table. Bowing to her, he said emotionlessly, "Good evening, Lady Lucille."

Lucille rose from her seat, curtsied to Raoul, and then advanced towards him. Touching a white finger to his cheek, she said nonchalantly, "You resemble your father so clearly, Sir Raoul. 'tis a pity he has taken to bed." She paused. "Have you just returned?"

Grudgingly, Raoul agreed, "Aye, I returned not a quarter of an hour ago from Newbury. Your husband has informed me that you advised him against fetching me when my father took ill?"

Lucille nodded. "Aye, I did. You do so value your knighthood over much else and with winter setting in you would not have wanted to abandon your quest for more knights, would you?" She was not incorrect; Raoul did hold his position as leader of his father's knights above much else, save for his father and his betrothal to Christine. "You are regaled as the greatest knight in a…"

Raoul advanced towards Lucille and cut her off sharply. "I do not give a damn what I am to everybody else, Lady Lucille," he said, making sure to keep his voice strong and even. "What I am above all else is my father's son and when he is in need of me I expect to be with him. You serve him and me as your husband does; your duty is to us, not yourself."

Though Raoul attempted to continue into the kitchens without any further delay, Lucille once again found it in her interests to speak. "That is not the attitude of an understanding lord, Sir Raoul, taking yourself above all others. It is…"

"Selfish, perhaps?" he said, raising his voice and turning to the woman behind him. "Aye, it is a selfish thought, though it is hard not to think of myself when those who should be thinking of me," he paused for emphasis, "do not." Lucille's dark eyes flashed as Raoul once again turned and walked towards the kitchens to sate his hunger. He heard as Lucille let out a huff of indignation before the receding sounds of her footsteps echoed in the dining hall.

One last thought made its way through Raoul's mind as the glorious smells of the manor kitchens greeted him. Regardless of Christine, Raoul had formulated his own reasons for disliking Lord Gerard's second wife and he had no intention of rethinking. _Now, pork or venison?

* * *

_

**References:**

1. _Religion:_ Erik's thoughts at the chapter's opening feature religions references. At this time, what is now Europe was also called Christendom due to widespread Christianity. Remember, the Middle Ages featured the advent of Christianity, both in Western Europe (the Holy Roman Empire) and in Eastern Europe (the Byzantine Empire), and that the Reformation took place around the close of this time period. Therefore, the characters are all Christian. I myself am not, so the story will not feature religion prominently aside from things like Erik's musings at the beginning of this chapter. As I've said before, please point out glaring errors and I'll happily alter them. However, please don't make this into a religious debate – this is just a story and isn't meant to harm anyone.

2. _Raoul:_ As is previously noted, Raoul's position in the story is that of Princess Amneris in _Aida_, the beautiful and materialistic daughter of the Pharaoh who wishes that Radames (Christine) would give her the attention she offers him. Now, if you've heard/read the lyrics of Amneris' songs in the show (mostly _My Strongest Suit_), you are aware of just how caught up in herself she really is, and that is where her eventual redemption comes from, from her realization of the importance of her authority and of those she holds dear. Raoul may not seem likened to this right now, but never fear! Other character traits besides being materialistic will play an integral role in his interactions with the other characters and he will fit into the Amneris role quite nicely.

3. _Gerard & Lucille:_ These two will be sharing the role of Zoser, Pharaoh's chief advisor. Different elements of the character will be shared between them, so don't expect either one to fully mirror Zoser. Just wait and see how I use them…

4. _Manors:_ I'll restate this from previous chapters; none of the manors, lords or vassals mentioned really existed. Newbury follows suit – it's not real.

8


	5. IV: Permutatio

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **Hello again! This chapter would've been up much sooner if my Internet had not been down and if I didn't have midterms, so I apologize. Luckily, there is lots of good news to share from my vault of fanfiction…**_Kingdom of Music_** is returning! An update will be coming in the next week or two depending on my schedule and I hope that you will all read it, if you have not already, in anticipation of its return. My Muse for that story was on a (way too long and unexcused) vacation.

I have decided to change the chapter titles to Latin. Many of them will be decipherable by non-Latin students, but if you have a question about the title meaning of a particular chapter I am happy to oblige! (_Caput_ means "Chapter"…also "head", but that's irrelevant) There is a note at the end of the chapter regarding further use of the language.

Of course, thank you to my wonderful Beta **DonJuanTriumphs** for reading and editing this chapter by section as I completed it – she's great and is a pleasure to speak to online at 1 in the morning EST. (To DJT – the last line is a "tidbit" line)

Enjoy this chapter and please give me your opinions – I'd love to hear them! And, of course, neither _Phantom_ nor _Aida_ belongs to me.

**Happy reading and please review!**

**NSLJ

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**

**Caput IV – Permutatio**

It was late in the evening when Christine returned to check on Erik's progress, no moonlight illuminating her journey to his room and the only brightness coming from the gentle glow of the candle she carried with her. It was eerily quiet; Margaret was in tending to the second knight, whose name, she'd found out through her lady-in-waiting, was Joseph, and all others were either in the tavern itself or asleep, neither of which brought noise to the dark corridor.

Slowly Christine opened the door to Erik's chamber, shuddering as the door creaked ever so slightly and hoping that Erik was not a light sleeper; now that he was no longer unconscious, she had to worry about waking the injured knight. Closing the large door to her back, Christine held her candle out to guide her towards the pallet on which Erik lay, her small feet moving almost silently across the floor and the very edges of her robe and shift swishing softly but unnoticeably. She placed the candle on the table beside the bed and knelt beside Erik's sleeping form, his chest rising and falling at her eye level.

Christine inched closer, bending slightly over the man before her and checking to see what bandages needed to be replaced and if they could wait until morning. She had not expected him to be as fast asleep as he was when she arrived and had planned on making quick changes before allowing him to drift off to sleep, but that was proving impossible now.

Sighing to herself, Christine moved her eyes up and down Erik's broken body, gently pulling the sheet down to his waist to check the bandages on his chest. When she did so, Christine felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach; she had not looked too closely earlier, but it was confirmed before her now that he was extremely well-built, chiseled, rippling muscles hidden beneath the raw and cut-up skin of his chest. She could only imagine what it felt like to be held against such a chest…

_Stop thinking about this man like that! Surely Raoul is just as muscular!_ Christine closed her eyes and collected herself before replacing the sheet over Erik's chest and moving to his legs, lifting the sheet up to his thighs to inspect his progress. Noticing quickly that nothing needed to be altered, Christine hurriedly threw the sheet back over him, not wanting to be tempted to think of his large muscular body in any fashion other than one of a caretaker.

Allowing herself to look over his body once more, Christine noticed the large wrapped bandage over the right side of Erik's face, shielding it completely from her. She had seen how ravaged his face had been and the midnight-black mask he had worn in the tavern when she'd first laid eyes on him; the ragged skin was not injured but horribly deformed, she'd concluded, though she was sure that not many noted that but her. Christine ghosted her fingers over the facial bandage, noticing that it was soiled enough for her to change it, but felt a growing anxiety. If he had worn a mask to hide that part of him from the world, he surely would not want her looking upon his face, especially without first warning him. Unfortunately, Christine thought to herself, it was her duty as his caretaker to keep him in the best possible condition and that included changing dirtied bandages.

Christine took a deep breath before rising onto her feet to get a better angle and then beginning to remove the bandage over Erik's face, her fingers working quickly and assuredly but also very gently so as not to rouse Erik. As the white cloth of the bandage came up from his face, Christine began to see once again the twisted marred flesh that he desired hidden, feeling tears prick at her eyes. It was certainly a defect of birth; nothing so abnormal could be otherwise. _He must believe that God has cursed him, poor thing. How could He have disfigured anything that is otherwise so perfect!_ Christine swallowed hard, trying to suppress more thoughts of Erik's near-perfect form.

As she pulled the last layers of cloth from Erik's face, Christine was relying on balance to keep her suspended above Erik. That, unfortunately, proved an insufficient force; before she could finish, Christine found herself losing her suspension in the air and falling with an ungraceful thump onto Erik's resting body. Christine scrambled to get on her feet almost immediately, but not before Erik could sit up abruptly and see her in the dim light of her candle holding the bandage. His hand shot to his face – out of instinct, Christine was sure after how he'd woken up that morning – and Christine felt her heart plummet into her stomach when his hand seemingly searched his whole face for some type of covering.

Before Christine could stop him, Erik's hand had shot out and grabbed the bandage that Christine was clinging to and pulled her far too close to him, his face mere inches from hers and his emerald eyes burning with an intense and angry fire. "You…little…DELILAH!" he shouted, shoving her so she fell unceremoniously onto the hard floor. Christine watched, horrified, as Erik, despite his severe injuries, grabbed the sheets about his waist and followed her onto the floor. Christine scrambled to get up, her limbs shaking, hoping that by being on her feet she had more strength and authority over the injured and enraged Erik. "Do not run from me, you chit!"

Christine felt a strong hand enclose around her wrist and struggled against it. Fear coursed through her as her back hit the wall; she must've unconsciously moved in that direction and with the push of Erik's weight on her through his grip on her arm she fell backward. The leverage the wall provided allowed Erik to stand, one hand holding the sheet around his waist and the other like a vice on Christine's thin wrist. "Unhand me!" Christine cried out as Erik, with considerable effort, rose to his feet.

When Erik was standing, Christine realized exactly how superior he was to her in height and stature. She knew that his build exceeded her own by leaps and bounds but hadn't really expected him to be so much taller than her. Now, even though he was hunched over a bit and there was very little light in which she could see him, Christine could tell that Erik was at least a head-and-a-half her vertical superior and his body, she could guess, was twice the width of her own. Christine, for the first time, felt utterly and completely at his mercy from his considerably sized body towering over hers. "I will not grant that to a deceitful Pandora such as you," he snarled, pulling her closer to him and then shoving her back against the wall with more force than she anticipated him possessing in his injured state.

They were only inches apart and Christine could feel Erik's ragged but strong and hot breath on her face. When he'd pushed her against the wall he had angled her body and his and was now fully leaning over her, his face on the same plane as hers, and Christine found herself unable to look away. "What is it you wanted?" Erik growled, lowering his voice now that Christine was so close. Letting go of her wrist, Erik moved closer so she could not move and pointed at the ravaged side of his face. "Is this what you wanted to see?"

Christine felt tears coming to her eyes as she looked at Erik, hers locked with his, fiery green meshing with glassy blue despite the darkness of the room. "N-n-nay," she stammered, feeling weak under the intensity of his gaze but unmoving from it. "I…" Christine began, but was abruptly cut off by Erik.

"You have no idea what I've been through," he said, his voice low and cold and his vision still aligned with Christine's. Christine opened her mouth, hoping to utter some variation on an apology, when he continued, "I do not need your sympathy," and backed away from Christine on the wall. Not a moment later, Erik landed roughly on the floor, his injured legs giving out beneath him.

Following him to the floor, Christine extended an arm into the dark and let her hand enclose around Erik's bandaged forearm. "You need to rest, Erik," she murmured softly, strengthening her hold on his arm and trying valiantly to pull him upright.

"Go," Erik replied forcefully, his voice at a low timbre that signaled that he was not to be trifled with. Christine stalled, hoping that he would change his mind, and then began her attempts to raise him once again. "Go!" he repeated, nearly shouting. Christine hurried to her feet and smoothed out her shift and robe, sensing Erik's shadowy form still on the ground at her feet. She bent to the table and picked up her candle and a bandage, the latter of which she laid at Erik's side before hastening to the door. As she made to exit, she heard Erik's voice, "To think I valued such a selfish woman as my savior."

* * *

Christine whirled around at Erik's words, holding the candle out from her body and casting a dim light on Erik's crippled half-bared body. "Selfish?" she said firmly, walking towards him again. "You dare to call me selfish? You forget your place."

"My place," Erik replied, "is as the enemy of your people." Using his stronger arm to push himself up on to his feet, he slowly advanced towards the woman before him, his gait uneven and one of his legs showing a limp. Despite having tried to intimidate her against the wall, Erik could not deny that he thoroughly enjoyed being so close to her even if she didn't think the same of him. He had, after all, done to her what all women feared: being pressed against a wall by a half-naked man.

"Aye, it is," she said calmly, though her face spoke otherwise. "Though I must wonder what kind of fearsome enemy you are if you cannot even defend yourself." Honor hurt, Erik stepped purposefully towards Christine again, seeing only shadows of her body from the candle's dim illumination.

"And I must question your place as well as you violate a man's privacy without being asked," Erik responded, voice equally as low and bitter as Christine's had been.

Coldly and clearly offended, Christine said, gesturing at him, "This man happens to be one I am caring for and I am doing my duty…"

"You have no such duty!" Erik interjected, taking another step and faltering a little on his weakened limbs. "You and I are not allies, we are enemies! Why do you see fit to do the one thing I cannot bear when there is no obligation on your part to do anything to me whatsoever?" Christine bit her lip, though her sapphire eyes revealed that she was not as intimidated as the gesture made her seem.

"Nay, I do have an obligation, at least one that is arguable by others in my party," the petite woman stated evenly, "and that is to let you die." Erik stared at her blankly, wondering what her intentions were exactly. "But I am a human and I daresay I try to exemplify that humaneness. And so forgive me for attempting to be of some humanity and kindness." Christine eyed Erik as he shifted his weight back and forth on his legs to relieve the pained pressure building up in them from resting his weight on them for the first time.

"I would rather die than be taken and dictated against my will," Erik said bitingly. "You know nothing of me and if I value your 'humanity' or not. You dare insult my homeland and my honor when you do not know anything of the circumstances under which my comrade and I were taken! There is not one thing you would rather see in this world than my people given as servants to yours and yet you tend to me so as to make it more torturous! You say you have humanity yet what you lack is a sense of others and that they may have their reasons as you have yours!" Erik could feel Christine shudder in their close proximity and felt his heart melt when he heard her begin to cry at his words. As he watched her in the dark shadows, he could see again the woman who had bewitched his thoughts when he'd burst into the tavern, could sense the vivaciousness from her willingness to fight verbally with him but also the weakness of any person spoken to as he had to her. Erik was strongly tempted in the moment to reach out a hand and touch her shoulder, but he feared that it would not be in Christine's best interests. Softening his voice, Erik said, "My future amongst your people is not one of great pleasure or happiness, and you and I both know that. My past is one of near-limitless freedoms but the future is one of sure limitation. I hope you understand my plight and forgive me." His voice was barely a whisper now as he eased himself onto the floor at Christine's feet. "One cannot know what freedom truly is until it is unjustly removed."

Erik stared up into the woman's eyes from below her, trying to ease the feeling of anxiousness and nakedness at not having anything to cover the ravaged side of his face. He could tell that she was still quietly crying, her body moving ever so slightly and gentle noises coming from her throat. Watching Christine's every move, Erik felt her reach out for a moment towards him, and then pull back. "I am not free in this world either, but it does not give me a purpose for so rudely attacking another who has done naught but help." She withdrew from where Erik knelt and hurried to a set of drawers, taking from it a small object, extending it to Erik.

The minute it was in his hands, Christine fled from the room, leaving Erik alone. He examined the object in his hand; it was a mask, one to cover almost his entire face from forehead to upper lip. It was made of black leather, as his former mask had been, though it was much cruder and far less soft to the touch. It would have to do.

As Erik positioned the mask over his face, allowing it to mold to his skin, he found himself wondering if Christine knew who he truly was. There had been no defining things about any of his accoutrements from the previous evening, nothing to distinguish him as the son of Lord Arnold of Eaton. Perhaps this mask would do well to maintain such anonymity. Perhaps.

* * *

"Be sure that this is administered in secret to Chagny's goblet and his alone. If you are questioned, you were sent by the court physician and it is medication. _Do not_ let yourselves be seen, least of all by that son of his. _Dominus vobiscum_."

As the two squires bowed and left the chamber, Lord Gerard of Dalton let his head rest in his hand on his massive writing desk, eyeing the letter from his daughter once again. She was well and returning home following his orders that she was to do so. It was carefully planned, every last minute from the letter he had sent to her through her wedding night. He would have it no other way.

Sighing to himself, Gerard leaned back in his chair and looked up at the wall above him on which hung a painting of Christine and William when she was thirteen and he seven. How long ago it was; Christine was now a woman of eighteen on the brink of marriage and William a young man of twelve having started his training to become a knight. How time had passed! Gerard looked at the painting intently, trying to capture an image of his daughter when he'd last seen her a few months prior. She had her mother's face, blue eyes like the sea and glorious chestnut ringlets framing a pale but perfect complexion. It had been over thirteen years and Gerard still thought about her, how she had carried herself with such grace, how she laid her hand upon his and sent a strange warmth throughout his body, how she held him and cried his name when they made love.

Her death had made him bitter. Now, as he looked at the portrait of his children and envisioned the one that was hers, he could not help but think about what it would have been like to have had her by his side now. Christine's triumphs would have been celebrated and her marriage an extravagant and joyous thing to him. It was a means of empowerment now, not joy as it would've been to her mother. He craved power and his daughter's marriage was not for her, it was for him and him alone.

Gerard loved Christine. Despite all that Lucille said about her and all of the animosity between the two women of the house, Gerard knew that the love of his daughter was more important to him. He only hoped that with time she would grow to love him for what he was doing for her, not just as her father that she must love unconditionally.

"Father?" Gerard was drawn from his thoughts by the voice of his son and he turned to see William, who was so like him when he was his age, standing in the entrance to the room. "Father, would you take me out riding? Sir Marcus taught me how to ride one-handed!" Chuckling, Gerard stood and walked towards his son, still far his superior in height, though not for long.

Looking out the window at the bleak hills covered in a thin layer of frost, Gerard replied, "What does your mother think of you going out in the cold, William?" His blue eyes, not unlike his sister's but lacking the sparkle that her mother's had had and that Gerard's did not, went to his shoes, staring at the floor.

"Mother said it was all right for me to go out if you went with me," the boy responded, moving his foot around on the floor. Gerard held back a smile at his son's attempt to persuade him.

"I see," Gerard responded, putting a strong hand on William's shoulder. "William, I am quite preoccupied right now," he said, seeing the disappointment in his son's eyes, "but we will ride tomorrow, aye?"

The boy's eyes lit up. "Aye, Father!" he said happily before running off to another part of the manor house. Gerard smiled to himself before turning and going back to his desk to work on a register of the serfs on the manor and of tribute money. He did not realize how long he had been working until he felt elegant familiar hands on his shoulders and breath in his ear.

"Gerard, my love, the cooks have prepared us our evening meal," Lucille said warmly, pressing her lips to her husband's neck and running one of her hands over his shoulder and down his chest. Gerard put his quill in its inkwell and paused, looking at the incomplete documents before him.

"Tell the cooks I will take dinner in my study this eve," he said, leaning into her caresses ever so slightly. "There is much work that needs to be completed before Christine returns."

Lucille made a clucking noise with her tongue and strengthened her touches, massaging Gerard's shoulders. "My darling, you have been working too much!" she said, her voice low and sensual. "Take dinner with us this eve and have the night off," she continued, kissing the back of his neck again but not stilling her ministrations on his shoulders.

Turning to his wife, Gerard said firmly, "You know that I do desire time to myself, my lady, but I owe my time to these documents. Everything must be in perfect order before the events of the coming months. With the Lord of Chagny dying…"

Lucille snapped to attention. "You sent the squires?

"Aye," Gerard replied, taking his wife in his lap. "They have gone to Chagny in time for their meal this evening." Lucille smiled wickedly at her husband's remark. Though not keen on the plan involving Christine at first, she was now as caught up in the prospect of more land and riches as Gerard had been initially.

"Oh, the wealth she will bring us, Gerard!" Lucille said sotto voce, leaning back into the arms of her husband. "The power, the glory, the fortune! You are clever, my love, clever and courageous to take matters into our hands," she continued, turning her head and kissing Gerard passionately.

Pulling away from Lucille for a moment, he remarked, "_Fortes fortuna adiuvat_," before pressing his lips to his wife's once again. Fortune favors the brave, something his father had told him from a young age. She certainly did, the lady Fortune. Achievement was nothing without boldness to grasp it. Power was nothing if not fought for.

Lucille and Gerard broke apart and she stood. "You will join us, then?"

"Aye, my lady, in a few moments." Lucille nodded before turning and exiting the room. Gerard returned to his documents, though his mind was thoroughly preoccupied with the events that were about to unfold. He prayed for Christine's sake that she did not find out what he and her stepmother had been planning in her absence. He hoped for his future son-in-law's sake that he did not suspect anything and so postpone the wedding. And above all he desired not to be discovered.

Allowing the documents to dry, Gerard folded his hands in prayer. "_Dominus_, _alea iacta est_. I swear eternal service unto You for the good fortune Thou hast bestowed upon me and my family. Should Thou refuse me entrance to Your kingdom for my actions, I pray that Lucifer be merciful. I love my daughter and I pray for Your forgiveness for her sake. Let her be happy and unknowing to my actions and I am Yours to do with what You will. _Amen._"

Rising, Gerard cast one final look upon the portrait of his children before walking from the room to dine, thinking all the while about what was to come. As Gerard was his most trusted vassal and ally, the Lord of Chagny had bestowed upon him many gifts in the past; his death would be the greatest.

* * *

**References:**

1. _The Unmasking:_ This is, of course, the infamous "unmasking" scene from the ALW show and movie, in which Christine rips off Erik's mask (or bandage, in this case) and he raves at her (not unlike his words in this chapter) until she returns it to him. In the midst of all of this, however, I've added the second part of the first scene between Aida and Radames from _Aida_, in which he commands her to wash his back and they throw insults at each other before Aida has had enough and, as this is a musical, breaks into song (_The Past is Another Land_). I hope I've done it justice.

2. _Gerard & Lucille:_ As I've said before, Gerard and Lucille take the place of Chief Minister Zoser in _Aida_, Radames' father who poisons Pharaoh in order to have his son and Amneris wed, making him the father of the new Pharaoh. Clearly, such is the case with Gerard and Lucille, though they will be an evil duo, not just one man. Different aspects of the role will be distributed between them as I previously noted.

3. _Latin:_ Latin, though the language of the Romans, continued to be used in the Church through the modern day and would have been known by the nobility. Gerard is a well-read and privileged man, and he is therefore familiar with the language. The things he says in Latin, and that others will say in time, I'll post here for your convenience. _Dominus vobiscum_ means "Lord be with you" (said to multiple people) and _dominus_ on its own is, in this context, "Lord" (it's more common meaning is "master", as in the master of a house or of slaves). _Fortes fortuna adiuvat_ means, as Gerard notes, "fortune favors the brave", which I've chosen not only for its relevance to Gerard but because it is the name of the song Radames and his soldiers sing at the beginning of _Aida_ while on a mission through Nubia. Lastly, _alea iacta est_ means "the die is cast" and is a quote from Julius Caesar, said after he crossed the Rubicon River into Italy to provoke a civil war within Rome. More Latin is to come – I'm a Latin student, so this is fun for me!

7


	6. V: Reditus

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I apologize for the long hiatus on this – real life and the Muse are nasty little buggers. As well, I've been working away on a new RPF (real person fiction – the fanfiction of real life) featuring the pairing of Gerard Butler and Emmy Rossum from the 2004 POTO movie. Entitled _Where I'll Be_, it is posted in a LiveJournal community, so if you're interested in reading it feel free to request a link.

This chapter is not my favorite, but it's setting up many things to come that will be far more interesting. For now, I hope it piques your curiosity and intrigues you.

As always, notes are at the end of the chapter and I don't own _Phantom_ or _Aida_.

Lastly, a huge thank you to my beloved friend and Beta **DonJuanTriumphs** for sticking by me and this story as I complained for countless hours on Instant Messenger about the Muse and a lack of my own personal Erik…but that's a whole other story. And do read her work if you haven't already – it's wonderful!

Enjoy the chapter and please review!

**Happy reading!**

**NSLJ**

* * *

**Caput V – Reditus**

Erik's entire body was a painful ache as he awoke. Sleep had not come easily the night before, partially from having to crawl over to the mattress and pull himself upon it with his injuries but also from his encounter with the alluring Christine. She had offended him, and he her, but Erik could not let go of the image of her singing in the tavern and how entranced he had been by her presence. Christine carried with her an air of elegance and pride but, as he'd come to realize, vulnerability. Most women were simply the latter.

_She has hurt your pride and your position as a man by talking back to you! Do not praise her for it!_ Erik could almost hear his father's words now, as adamant as any man that women were to be seen and not heard, but for in the bedroom. He felt his heart sink, wondering if news had reached his father and sisters that he had been captured by Chagny's knights. What disgrace! What shame to the family name and honor! Closing his eyes, Erik tried to envision Elizabeth and Olivia as they were when he had left them but was only met with a scene of despair when they were told of his failure.

The door opened with a loud creak, causing Erik to jump. Entering the room was Christine, followed by a man of worn features and graying hair and another dressed more regally, and in her arms was a large bundle of fabric. She noticed he was awake and immediately knelt beside his bed. "You are all right?" she said, as the older man who had accompanied her bent over Erik's body and checked his pulse in his wrist, the second man standing off to the side.

"Aye," Erik replied, nodding. Despite tremendous emotional strain, Erik could not deny that his body was physically feeling much better, stronger even. He took Christine's hand and murmured, "Thank you." Erik felt his heart leap in his chest when Christine smiled at him, strengthening the grip he'd initiated between their hands and helping him to sit upright. She turned to the man beside her, nodding to him and he left the room while the other replaced him.

"Sir Richard will help you dress," Christine said, looking at the man beside her who nodded stiffly. "I will return when you've finished." Sir Richard bowed to her as she hurried from the room, closing the door with her exit.

"Up, boy," Sir Richard ordered, offering Erik his arm and hoisting him up onto his feet. Yes, he was certainly feeling healthier. The wounds across his body had begun to heal properly, sealing up and no longer stinging as much when adjusted. Erik held the sheet that had covered him only moments before around his waist, trying to maintain some semblance of modesty. "Here," the man said, extending a pair of linen pants to Erik, who took them in his free hand.

He looked up at Sir Richard skeptically, acknowledging the garment in his hand, "These are supposed to keep me warm?"

"Aye," Sir Richard responded rather coldly. "You are no knight any longer, and if you want to survive you had better remember it." Grudgingly, Erik turned his back to Sir Richard and slid the pants up over his long legs, tying them at his waist. No, they would not withstand the oncoming cold at all.

As Erik turned around to face him, Sir Richard tossed him a long tunic made of the same drab linen as the pants. He pulled it over his head and prayed it didn't catch on his new mask, pulling it from his face; it did not. The tunic was followed by a leather belt and vest, and finally a pair of beaten-up leather boots that went up to his knees. Erik looked up at Sir Richard, who was staring back at him emotionlessly. After moments of awkward silence, the man said, "Good Lord, what is it you want?"

"Lady Christine said that she would be returning when I was dressed." He paused for effect. "I _am_ dressed."

Sir Richard walked towards Erik and looked him in the eyes. "Don't you go getting your hopes up for Lady Christine. You are nothing but a servant to her fiancé." Erik stopped short at the man's words.

"Her fiancé?" Erik asked Sir Richard as he retreated towards the door. "She is betrothed?" _You did not really have any hopes for her, did you? One passionate glance is not enough to undo a lifetime of your father's hatred for Chagny, nor enough to ask for a woman's hand. And he's right, you're a servant._

"Aye," Sir Richard replied, "to the Lord of Chagny's son." Before Erik could utter a reply, the man had exited the room. Erik's stature deflated, his proud stance diminished to a weak upright position. _This is not your place. You should not have thought so highly of her actions towards you._

"Erik?" Erik was startled upon hearing his own name and looked up only to see Christine enter his room, bundled up in a cloak lined with thick gorgeous fur. She stepped towards him, and he to her, until they met in the room's center. Christine examined his finally clothed body only to stare into his eyes and give a look of confusion. "You do not look pleased."

"How can one be pleased when he is forced into servitude?" Erik responded, trying not to sound as harsh as the words were.

Christine bit her lip, and where most would have found it childish and unladylike, Erik found it rather endearing. "You have no choice," she answered him, her voice even and solemn. "I could not let you be killed by those men; I did this to save your life." She extended a heavily gloved hand and laid it across Erik's forearm. "I am sorry," Christine said, her voice sincere, the blue of her eyes locked with the green of Erik's.

"Lady Christine!" A voice came to Erik's room and Christine turned abruptly to respond.

"One moment!" She turned back to Erik who was staring at her with a mixture of adoration and contempt. "Erik," Christine said, taking hold of his arm just below his elbow, "they will not treat you as I have. There is very little more I can do to help you; your survival depends on your obedience."

Erik's eyes flashed with anger. "Obedience is for the small-minded and incompetent. For one of intelligence and noble…" Erik stopped himself, quickly thinking of an alternative to letting on his identity, "…thoughts, it is practically sinful."

"Obedience is a virtue, not a sin," Christine replied coldly, "and it will save your life." She paused. "Come," Christine said softly, turning around and walking from the room, Erik a few paces behind her.

They exited the tavern onto the large road on which Erik had entered the town a few nights before though this time there were heavy ominous clouds overhead. Erik looked at the sky and once again thought of his home on the Eaton manor, wishing he had never accepted his father's quest for glory. But what else could he have done?

Erik was pulled from his thoughts by a voice beside him, "My lord!" Whirling around, Erik found Buquet kneeling at his feet, his head bowed to him.

"Up, you fool!" Erik whispered angrily, grabbing the knight's arm and pulling him to his feet. Staring at him, Erik said gruffly, "My identity must remain a secret, Buquet, do you hear me?" Buquet opened his mouth to protest, but Erik held out a hand to silence him. "_Abundans cautela non nocet_," he stated quietly, something his father and the more seasoned knights taught their young successors. "They will have me killed if they are to find out who I truly am, Buquet."

"Aye, my…" Erik glared at Buquet as he nearly spoke to him formally again, and the knight cleared his throat before changing his words. "Aye…Erik."

* * *

The cold wind whipped at Christine's face as the group traveled northward towards Chagny and Dalton, the wintry air harsh and biting despite Christine's many layers of leather and fur and cloth. Looking down from her position atop her horse, Christine saw Erik's face in profile, his hand firmly on her horse's reins. She had not chosen him as the one to walk beside her steed, but any complaint on her part would have aroused suspicion of either foul play while she had been tending to him or other far more dishonorable things.

As a particularly cruel gust of wind blew through their company, Christine heard Erik shudder and she cast a quick glance at him once again. He had to be positively freezing, his hands gloveless and his body covered in cloth that did very little against the bitter cold. The skin remaining uncovered by his mask was pale and his jaw was set firmly to keep his teeth from chattering, and Christine felt in her stomach an awful pang of guilt.

Without hesitation, Christine pulled one of the rough blankets from her shoulders with one hand twirling it out to the side of her and resting it surprisingly well across Erik's broad shoulders. The wind threatened to pull it off, but Christine watched as Erik caught it quickly in his hand, turning to look up at her. From behind his mask, Christine saw his green eyes, still vibrant and startling but quickly fading, their luster disappearing. Christine found herself swallowing back a tear as Erik said, "Thank you, my lady," turning away from her and focusing his gaze in front of him.

"I cannot have the man guiding my horse freeze," Christine replied softly, smiling to herself.

They made camp that night about five hours' journey from the Dalton manor house that lay not half an hour from Chagny. By rising early, Sir Richard had said, Christine could return to her own home with enough time to prepare for feasting at Chagny that same eve, and she had no arguments otherwise. As she and Margaret laid down to bed in their tent, Christine could not help but shiver; it was mercilessly cold despite every effort to keep her warm. "Are you all right, Christine?" Margaret asked, turning on her side to face Christine.

"Nay," Christine responded, her teeth chattering against each other, and she curled herself into a ball beneath the heavy fur blankets.

Margaret chuckled and embraced her friend, the two of them close together to increase body heat. "Aye, 'tis cold, but in a short while you will have a man to keep you warm at night!"

Christine smiled at her friend, adding, "And I will never be cold again!" The pair laughed together and Christine finally found solace in sleep.

It was still early when they awoke the next morning, the hills beyond their campsite cloaked in fog and the grass around them coated in a thin layer of frost, sparkling like the diamonds in Christine's ring. Christine, accompanied by Margaret, walked towards their horses and their respective guides, Erik and his fellow former knight. She turned to Erik as she came up to the side of her steed, comforting heat radiating from the animal. "My lady," he said, bowing to her, before steadying the horse and lifting Christine up into the saddle with ease considering his still-healing wounds. Sir Richard called out to start moving and the group was off towards Dalton.

* * *

Gerard paced back and forth in the entrance hall of the Dalton manor, hands behind his back, eyes on the ground. His plans were in motion and there was no turning back, and the thought was rather daunting.

"Do not be so hard on yourself," Lucille had said to him the night before as she massaged his back. "You are doing the right thing and can only gain." The words rang in his head now, pounding and echoing as he awaited Christine's arrival home. He had to stop himself from thinking so negatively; she was very astute, his daughter, and would surely suspect.

"My lord!" Gerard was interrupted as one of his squires ran into the hall, panting. "My lord," he repeated, falling to one knee before Gerard, "the Lord of Chagny has arrived!"

Gerard grabbed the squire by the shoulder and dragged him upright. "Chagny is at the manor? Why was I not informed?" The squire looked shocked and terrified of Gerard, shaking. "ANSWER ME!"

"He's only just arrived, my lord, and unannounced. He is at the side entrance, my lord," the squire informed him, and Gerard immediately rushed off to that part of the manor house. When he arrived, he saw the Lord of Chagny and two attendants walking towards him as their horses were led away.

As the Lord of Chagny ascended the steps into the manor house and reached the landing, Gerard knelt on one knee and acknowledged Chagny, "My lord, it is an honor."

"Rise, Gerard," the Lord of Chagny said solemnly, motioning with his hand for his attendants to leave as Gerard rose from the ground to stand beside the Lord of Chagny. He was not that much taller than Chagny, but his current ailments had lessened his stature, his body less sure and proud, and Gerard felt his insides churn out of greed, excitement and anxiety; it was working. "Walk with me," he continued, motioning towards the long corridor of Lucille's tapestry collection that lay nearby.

"As you wish, my lord," Gerard responded, starting to walk alongside the ailing Lord of Chagny. There was a prolonged silence as they passed into the corridor and Gerard found himself growing nervous though there was no true reason to it. "What is it you wish to discuss with me, my lord?"

The Lord of Chagny sighed tremendously, his breath wheezing slightly, and said, "This condition of mine is not going away, Gerard." Gerard felt his breath stop in his chest and his heart race. "The physicians…"

"They are able to keep it at bay?" Gerard asked, his voice somber.

"They cannot keep at bay what they do not understand," Chagny replied, looking ahead of him down the corridor. "There is very little left to do but wait, and the toll it is having on me, on my son…" he trailed off and Gerard felt guilt beginning to rise in his stomach. _No sympathy, Gerard._

"My lord, you are still alive and well, and _dum vita est, spes est_," Gerard said evenly, keeping emotions to a bare minimum.

"Aye, Gerard, but I must prepare my manor for the very worst, and I fear there is not much time left to do so." _He fears his death. He knows it is near._ Chagny slowed his pace, walking slowly as Gerard followed at the same gait.

Gerard said, "That is the proper choice, my lord," trying desperately not to let a smirk rise to his lips or to break out in pained confessions as his conscience pulled in two directions, one towards his oath of protection to Chagny and one towards his own family's eternal glory.

There was a lengthy period of quiet after this sentiment before the Lord of Chagny started, "You know that your daughter and my son have been engaged for nigh three years now."

"Of course, my lord. My daughter and I have both anticipated such a union with joy," he replied, covering his greedy thoughts with proper ideas that he was sure would be welcomed by Chagny.

"If I am to leave this world, Gerard, my son will need Lady Christine at his side." Gerard stopped walking and Chagny stalled as well. Looking up into his vassal's eyes, Chagny asked, "She is returning?"

"Imminently," Gerard responded, his chest swelling with pride and anticipation.

"She and Raoul will be wed a fortnight hence her arrival," Chagny said simply, though it was quite grand a statement. "No greater joy could be brought to me upon my deathbed than seeing our families joined, Gerard."

"It will be done, my lord," Gerard replied proudly, descending onto one knee and bowing before Chagny in the dimly lit corridor. As he rose, he saw another young squire hurrying towards them, panting.

"My lords," he cried, practically falling onto the ground at their feet, "Lady Christine has arrived with her entourage." Passing by the squire, Gerard hurried back down the corridor at a quick pace, trusting that the Lord of Chagny would follow to greet his son's betrothed. Gerard arrived in the entrance hall just as Christine walked through the large doors, practically unrecognizable through the many layers she wore.

She noticed his arrival, turning to face him as attendants removed her heavy cloaks from her shoulders. The moment she was free of the garments, Christine hurried to Gerard, her blue eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed from the cold. "Father," she sighed, as she allowed Gerard to take her in his arms, holding her against his chest as though she was a small child once again. Gerard gently kissed the top of his daughter's head, overjoyed that she had returned to him safely and in good health. _She looks just like her mother._ "I have missed you, Father."

Before Gerard could respond, there was a shout of "Christine!" from the other side of the hall as William careened down the staircase and catapulted himself at his sister who withdrew from Gerard's arms to embrace him. Gerard looked on as his two children were reunited, William's height rivaling Christine's as she held him against her, kissing his forehead.

"I've missed you more than you know, William," she said sweetly, brushing hair back from her brother's face. "You've not caused Father too much trouble?" Christine continued, smiling at Gerard.

"Nay, not too much," William responded, blushing, as Gerard felt the Lord of Chagny arrive at his side. Immediately, both Christine and William snapped to attention, she curtsying and he bowing before their overlord. The Lord of Chagny stepped past Gerard and took Christine's hand, raising her up to stand beside him.

"Lady Christine, it pleases me greatly to know that you have arrived safely to the manor," he said formally but kindly, kissing Christine's hand. "My son will be…" he started, but was interrupted by a terrible hacking cough; Gerard smiled inwardly.

"My lord, are you…" Christine started, but Gerard quickly signaled to attendants who came forth to bring Chagny away to recover. "Father, the Lord of Chagny is not well?" Christine asked softly, going to her father and taking his arm. Any response on Gerard's part was postponed as Lucille arrived at his side, taking his other arm and pulling him ever so slightly so Christine would let go. "Lady Lucille," Christine stated evenly, curtsying to her stepmother, her face emotionless and rigid. Lucille nodded at her stepdaughter, which Gerard noted was also a very forced acknowledgement, and proceeded to place her hand on Gerard's cheek, pulling his face down and kissing him passionately as Christine moved towards her brother once more. As much as Gerard disliked any display in front of his children, especially William, he obliged Lucille her moment of romance before taking Christine's hand.

"Christine, I wish to speak with you privately," he said, nodding to his wife, who rolled her eyes as Gerard pulled his daughter towards him. Gerard led Christine away from Lucille and William back to the corridor with the tapestries and could sense that she was still shaken by the Lord of Chagny's condition. He slowed his pace.

"When did he fall ill, Father?" Christine asked softly, her eyes fixed ahead of her instead of at her father.

Gerard swallowed and said evenly, "Recently – since your last letter." He heard Christine take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if to calm herself. "It is a blessing that you have returned home when you have." She stopped and turned to him, her blue eyes full of shock. "There is much that you and I need to discuss," he said, taking her small hands in his.

"Father, you don't mean…" Gerard could see in her expression and in her eyes that she knew what was coming. A small tear drifted down her porcelain cheek as she said as calmly as she could, "I cannot give up my singing, Father."

"Christine," Gerard started softly but firmly, "we need you here now. I need you, the Lord of Chagny needs you…and Sir Raoul needs you." He saw Christine's thoughts illustrated on her face and in her stance, a quick look of excitement soon overshadowed by disappointment.

Meekly she asked, "So soon?"

Gerard paused. His forceful side was winning out over his gentler fatherly one, and he tried to tread lightly on tender subjects with his daughter. Swallowing, Gerard stated forcefully, "It is your duty to your family and to our benefactor that you be wed, Christine." _It is my duty to myself_.

Something inside Christine seemed to snap as she stated angrily, "Aye, but I have duties to myself as well!" Gerard sincerely did not want to hurt Christine but it was necessary. _She will thank me in the end._ "Father, I cannot marry him right away. I've not seen him in years, Father, and…"

"He loves you, Christine," Gerard interrupted her, "and he needs you by his side." He watched Christine mull over his words in her head and thought he saw the twinkle of a tear in her eye. "You will grow to love him as he does you. Aye, it is sudden but it is for the best. And as for your singing," Gerard continued and Christine looked up into his face, reminding him painfully of her mother, "it will have to wait." Christine bit her lip as a single tear snaked its way down her cheek. "You knew that it was only temporary, Christine, the gallivanting off around the land to sing. Your time is up."

* * *

**References:**

1. _Erik's Identity:_ Continuing with the _Aida_ plotline, Erik (representing Aida) asks that his identity be kept a secret because as the son of the Lord of Eaton (representing the King of Nubia) he's at the top of the Chagny hit list. In _Aida_, this request is initially made by Aida to Mereb, who in this story is the character of Margaret. However, for the time being, Buquet (representing Nehebka) will be Erik's confidante and eventually Margaret as well.

2. _Latin:_ The Latin Erik uses, _abundans cautela non nocet_, means "abundant caution does no harm." Gerard later says _dum vita est, spes est_, which means "while there is life, there is hope."

3. _Christine:_ In _Aida_, Radames (Christine) has been engaged to Amneris (Raoul) for some time and with Pharaoh (Lord of Chagny) near death he decides it is time for them to be wed, therefore stopping Radames from leaving on more expeditions. This, of course, is all the plan of Zoser (Gerard/Lucille) to have his son as Pharaoh and therefore gain more power for himself, which is shown in the musical as the song _Another Pyramid_. This parallels Gerard's discussion with Chagny and subsequent discussion with Christine regarding her singing and marriage to Raoul. In the musical, it's a very eventful argument between father and son but the situation is much less monumental in this story. Parts of this scene have been broken off into the next chapter, so stay tuned!

9


	7. VI: Introductio

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Once again, I offer my greatest apologies for the unannounced hiatus. Coincidentally, this one was caused by my involvement in a local performance of this story's inspiration, _Aida_, which took up much of my time and energy that would've been put to use in writing this.

As well, I have written through Chapter 9 of my real-person fiction _Where I'll Be_. If you are behind in reading or would like the links to the chapter to start reading, feel free to ask!

I hope you enjoy this chapter after such a long wait – the web of characters are starting to come together in this chapter, as in, they are all meeting one another.

A huge thank you to my wonderful beta and good friend, Miss **DonJuanTriumphs**, for her support and encouragement and, of course, editing of the story. She is awesome, as is her own writing!

As always, references are at the end of the chapter (most are _Aida_ explanations this chapter), and neither _Phantom_ nor _Aida_ is my own. Original characters and plotlines are mine.

**Happy reading and please review!**

**NSLJ

* * *

**

**Caput VI – Introductio**

Erik looked on out of the corner of his eye as Christine interacted with her family and then left with her father, leaving a young boy he assumed to be her brother and a beautiful but fierce-looking woman who, though she'd passionately kissed Christine's father, couldn't possibly be her mother. A mistress or wife, likely, but certainly not parent to Christine. When Christine and her father were out of sight, the woman dismissed the boy rather coldly and turned on the rest of Christine's entourage, Erik included. She walked over to Sir Richard, who bowed deeply to her and said formally, "Lady Lucille, 'tis an honor."

"Aye, Richard," she mused, brushing off his words as if they were dust in the wind. She walked slowly and stiffly past the assembled people and finally came to stand before Erik and Buquet. The woman, Lucille, looked them both up and down until her eyes came to lock with Erik's. He found them an unemotional and hellishly dark brown, almost black. She stared at him for a long moment before asking firmly, her face set, "Why do you not kneel?" Erik felt Buquet to his left, lowering himself to kneel before Lucille.

"Your ladyship wishes that I kneel?" he responded coolly, not breaking eye contact with Lucille. He knew in contradicting her he could bring about suspicion as to his origin – people would think him a noble, which he was – but Erik for the moment did not care. Noble or not he, and he hoped others from his father's land, would not kneel to a lady not his own; Buquet had succumbed to his cowardice.

"I do not wish it," Lucille replied irreverently, "I _command_ it!" Erik did not budge. "KNEEL!" Erik again ignored her advances. Lucille's eyes flashed and she snapped her fingers sharply, saying through gritted teeth, "If you will not kneel of your own accord, you will be made to!" Erik felt a forceful push grip on each of his shoulders and he did not resist being pushed onto his knees on the ground; it was one thing to defy orders but quite another to cause a commotion; he'd made his point. Erik moved his gaze from the ground upwards to Lucille, standing above him. She glared at him before saying evenly but bitingly, "Take them to the mines. We can't seem to keep them alive there…"

"Lucille!" Erik turned as he heard Christine's voice. She was striding purposefully across the foyer in their direction, her eyes blazing. Stopping before Lucille, she stared at the woman coldly. "Lucille, what in God's name are you doing?"

"I am teaching a stubborn servant a lesson," she responded viciously. "He must learn his place in this house." Erik watched Christine carefully; her breaths were slightly heavy from running across the hall and he found himself distracted by the way the swell of her breasts rose and fell beneath her bodice.

Erik nearly jumped when small hands took hold of his upper arm, pulling him up to stand; it was Christine. She helped him to stand before saying to Lucille, "I cannot allow you to condemn him or his fellow to death. You know nothing about him or my intention in bringing these men here!"

Lucille snapped, "Do not order me around, child! I am the lady of this manor, not you, and do not forget that!"

"I intended him as a servant to Sir Raoul, with my compliments!" Christine responded quickly, trying to get a word in. Erik found himself impressed. Lucille took long deep breaths, her expression showing her fury and she looked as though she might catch fire had it not been so drafty in the manor house.

"Very well," she bit back. "And his companion?" Erik turned to look at Buquet, still on the floor, and realized that Christine's hands were still firmly on his arm. It was comforting but the feeling of such a beautiful and strong woman holding any part of him threatened his willpower. He swallowed down the first tingles of desire; he could not afford for his body to announce its intentions when Christine had just so nobly saved his life and Buquet's.

"Chagny Manor is enormous; he will have a purpose there," she said, still not relinquishing her hold on Erik's arm. Lucille nodded curtly to Christine before turning on her heel and walking proudly up the staircase and out of sight. Christine nodded to her assembled entourage, saying, "Prepare extra horses for these men and return to Chagny." Not one questioned her, quickly bustling about to follow her orders. Buquet rose from his place on the floor and followed them, but Erik found that Christine was holding onto him still.

"My lady, I…" he started, but Christine interrupted him.

"I apologize for my stepmother, but do not take her threats lightly, however empty they are," Christine explained calmly but urgently, confirming what Lucille was to her for Erik. "You cannot afford any missteps with Sir Raoul and especially not with my family when they are visiting Chagny. I will not be able to stop them from doing terrible things to you for any contradiction you make."

"I would not expect you to," Erik replied softly, looking down at the woman before him, immediately wishing he had not; he would never be able to look away now that her vibrant blue eyes were locked with his. "You have done enough."

"Be careful; they will not make any exceptions for you just because I have favored you," Christine continued, not breaking eye contact. Erik felt inwardly proud at her words. She favored him! She – the beautiful Christine – favored him and said so to him! Erik swallowed before bowing to her and quickly breaking away from her, hurrying to join Buquet and the rest on their journey to Chagny.

* * *

Metal hit metal as swords clanged together in the air over one of the Chagny manor house's many courtyards, the metallic sound resonating against the stone walls and sending pulsations down the arms of the opponents. Raoul parried left, holding off the novice knight he was training as the others, a mixed group of novices and official knights as well as some servants, egged them both on. With a powerful swing of his blade, Raoul hit the novice's sword from his hands, the force of the blow sending him to the ground. Raoul stood over him, both of their chests heaving from the effort, before extending his hand to the fallen novice. The young man took his hand and Raoul helped him up to a standing position before sheathing his sword at his side.

"It is hard work to best any man with a sword, and even harder to best one's teacher, don't you think?" he said to those assembled. Raoul was not a selfish man for the most part, but he was never shy about his skill with a sword. He brushed sweaty locks of blonde hair from his face, breathing deeply. It was never his intention to hurt or embarrass any of the novice knights he trained, but on some days, like today, he would fight them purposefully so he could give himself an ego boost. And today he needed it more than ever.

"Of course, Sir Raoul," the novice replied as Raoul motioned to the other knights and novices to begin their own duels, "and especially a teacher as skilled as yourself." Raoul relaxed against the stone wall of the courtyard but relaxation was just about the last thing he felt. "And you are fair to your opponents."

"A fair and skilled fighter I may be," Raoul replied, fighting against his own nervousness, "but that clearly hasn't had any effect on the woman I am to marry." Raoul had been bitter about Christine's arrival as of late. Lord Gerard had been receiving many letters from his daughter regarding her return home but none had been written to him, the man destined to be her husband. His father had gone to Dalton to speak with Gerard earlier in the day and news of his arrival home had been brought while Raoul was busy training the novices. With such news was the announcement that Christine had returned to Dalton and would be accompanying her father to Chagny that very evening. "She has written to her father, spoken with my father and yet does not see fit to visit me personally until later."

"Perhaps she is intimidated, my lord," said one of his knights, chuckling. "So powerful a man must have a grand effect on any lady." Raoul found it difficult to argue, letting his ego get the best of him. He hoped that Christine's choice to not see him until that evening was out of her own anxiety and not neglect.

"Sir Raoul!" Raoul turned upon hearing the voice of one of his squires, seeing him enter the courtyard flanked by another man Raoul did not recognize. He was tall, at least three inches Raoul's vertical superior, and Raoul was considered to be the tallest in most companies, with a broad muscular chest and equally strong legs; he had the stature of a hardened, well-trained knight but could not have been more than a year or two older than Raoul. What was most shocking of all was his face. Framed by ebony hair, he had a very strong jaw line and fierce green eyes, but Raoul could see no more; over the upper half of his face, covering everything with the exception of his eyes from nose to hairline, was a black leather mask.

"Aye?" Raoul responded, walking towards the entrance to the courtyard, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The squire quickly knelt before Raoul and then rose again.

"Lady Christine has returned to Dalton manor from her travels safe and in good health. She will be attending the feast tonight and looks forward to your presence, but for now she sends you a token of her good wishes." The squire stepped aside, motioning to the masked man.

Raoul paused for a moment, looking the man up and down; he was dressed simply in the garb of a servant. "She sends to me a servant?" He looked back at the assembled knights and novices as well as the handful of servants present to attend to them. "I have no need for any further servants!"

The new servant's face remained set and emotionless as the squire persisted. "Lady Christine intended to please you with her gift, my lord, as you did for her with that young girl, Margaret." Raoul felt his mood brighten upon hearing of both Christine, his betrothed, and Margaret, the lovely servant, in one sentence.

Obliging the squire, Raoul rolled his eyes. "Aye, I suppose. And he is a captive of my father's enemy, is he not?" The squire nodded, acknowledging the man's roots from Eaton. "Now then, does this gift have a name?"

"Erik." Raoul found himself in shock when the servant said his name so proudly, seemingly not fazed at all that he was in the presence of the second most powerful person in the whole manor house, on the manor in its entirety! Every servant that had been brought to him before had cowered upon being introduced to him, had feared for their lives should they speak any louder than a meek whisper before him. Raoul felt some of the knights and novices, and especially the servants, behind him make subtle noises that echoed Raoul's own surprise. He was not against having more vocal servants, but something about this Erik's forwardness hit a nerve.

"Did you just speak?" Raoul stood proudly as he spoke, acting every bit the handsome and wealthy heir.

Erik, seemingly unimpressed and unmoved by Raoul's presence, straightened his body and used his superior height to his own advantage. "My name is Erik, my lord, and if you would allow me to speak I would tell you that…"

Raoul's temper snapped, though it was fully intentional. He was by no means offended by such a forward servant, if not a little put out that he did not back down from his new master, and meant his anger only as a means of intimidation. "How dare you! You do not lower your eyes, do not cower, nor do you kneel before a man your superior. Do you not fear the consequences for such?" Raoul's strong façade began to fall apart upon Erik's response, but part of him was strangely impressed.

"Would it please His Lordship if I did?" Raoul cocked his head slightly to the side, looking intently upon the man before him, examining him. There was something intriguing about him to Raoul and he found himself not only humbled – though he would never show it – but very interested in Erik.

"Nay," he replied simply, walking towards him.

"Then I am doing as you please." Raoul smiled inwardly; this man possessed characteristics akin to Raoul's own in his eloquent but sharp tongue and commanding presence.

"You speak the truth," Raoul admitted, before saying. "Now, you were saying something about…"

Erik's hard expression melted. "About Lady Christine, my lord." Raoul stepped forward towards Erik, his happiness more than apparent on his face.

"Aye, what do you know of Lady Christine?"

A smile creased Erik's face. "Only that she is well, my lord, and returned safely from her travels." Raoul felt his heart leap within the confines of his chest upon hearing of his beloved. He had already heard of her safe return to Dalton from his father, but such an announcement had been overshadowed by his father's obvious frailty. Now, as Erik spoke of his beautiful fiancée, Raoul basked in the warm sensation in the pit of his stomach knowing that very little stood between himself and Christine any longer. "I thought you might wish to know…"

"Aye! I've been so…" Raoul interrupted, immediately regretting his excited outburst when he garnered interested stares from the assembled. The very proud and regal heir of Chagny was almost never seen in a weak moment, and Raoul was not keen on changing such a reputation. Quickly changing the subject, he continued, "You're quite astute, are you not, Erik?"

Erik bowed slightly to Raoul in acknowledgement. "Aye, my lord, but my true talent is not in my perceptiveness. Forgive me to be so honest, but my capabilities are mostly with a sword," he spoke evenly and with a very cultured tone, surprising Raoul, and he motioned with his hand to the blade at Raoul's side. "If you would allow me, my lord, I would impart to you my own skills. There are techniques I have learned on my travels to lands not allied to yours that are beneficial to any combatant. They are skills boasted to be those of the heroes of the ancients, even of great Achilles himself!"

There was a collective murmuring behind Raoul, all of the servants and squires and knights and novices impressed by this man. Raoul smiled slyly. "A servant who can justly wield a weapon? I suppose I stand corrected." He nodded to Erik before turning the squire who brought him. "Bring this man to the servant's quarters and give him as Margaret's own charge. She will make him aware of anything further he need know. And in the morning," Raoul said officially, "he will join me in this very courtyard for swordplay."

* * *

Erik walked silently behind the lovely blonde servant named Margaret that the squires had handed him off to, never having felt smaller in his entire life than he did in the shadowy corridors of the Chagny manor house. His encounter with Chagny's son had been strange and draining, to say the least; he had not exactly wished to discuss the beautiful Christine with her fiancé, or with anyone, for anxiety about making known his interest in her. His thoughts had been only her since seeing her that night in the pub; it was the thought of her, after all, that inspired him to return and in turn be captured!

His thoughts were mixed about Sir Raoul. There was little more that he could say about the man than that he had a distinct haughtiness from both his looks and his position, was an excellent swordsman, and was entrenched in his own love for his betrothed. Erik could not blame him for his pride – he himself had never been quite humble as the son of the Lord of Eaton – nor could he find any fault at all in Raoul's keen interest in Christine; not only was she the kind, elegant and alluring woman that had saved Erik's own life, but she was Raoul's bride.

Erik's musings stopped short as he found himself nearly running into the young woman leading him, who had stopped and turned to face him. "Forgive me, but I cannot help asking about your importance to Sir Raoul?" As she spoke, Erik could not help but think that there was something oddly familiar about her, but he couldn't quite trace it.

Erik sighed. "I would rather not discuss that man," he replied coldly. Thinking about Raoul would in turn lead to thinking about Christine. "He values servants only for their pertinence to his own talents, for nothing…"

She interrupted him. "That may be, for Sir Raoul is certainly absorbed by self, but he did choose you and a life as a personal servant to him is far more worth living than one for anybody else on this manor." She paused. "When I was captured, Sir Raoul saved me from nearly being beaten to death for disobeying his soldiers and…"

"Margaret…" he extended a hand gently to her arm in comfort, but she shied away.

"…and from then on he said that he would look after me. And he has kept that promise! He gave me to Lady Christine and she treats me as an equal, but it was all of Sir Raoul's doing." Margaret sighed. "I know what you're thinking – that I've given my favors to him and the others here, but I am still loyal to Lord Arnold and to Eaton!" Erik shuddered upon hearing his father's name. "I will always be a part of my homeland and my heart lies only there."

"Of course," Erik replied softly.

Margaret took a deep breath. "If you don't mind my asking," she murmured humbly, and Erik nodded, "you have not given me your name?"

"Erik," he replied plainly, but the young girl gasped.

"Your name is Erik?" Her voice was breathy and she placed a hand to her breast in shock. "My God! I…" she made the sign of the cross on her chest before falling to her knees before Erik. "I did not believe it possible, my…"

Erik was stunned but managed to grab Margaret's arms and raise her stand before him. "What on Earth are you doing?"

Margaret smiled gently. "You do not recognize me, my lord?" Erik's eyes went wide, taken aback that she would speak to him formally. Did she know him? "My family lived with yours as your personal servants! I was handmaiden to your sister Elizabeth and my father personally advised Lord Arnold, your father…"

"Do not say such things!" Erik reprimanded forcefully. "I am a servant, nothing more!" The girl's intentions had to be good ones, but Erik knew that he could not afford for his identity to be whispered around the manor by the servants; it would soon reach higher powers.

"But my lord…"

"Margaret! You do not know me as the man that you think I am!" Erik was angry now, both at himself for shying away from his position by birth and at Margaret for her persistence.

"Aye, my lord, I do! Do not shame yourself by claiming to be one of lowlier birth! I know who you are, Sir Erik!" Erik opened his mouth to utter words of protest but could fid none. Margaret once again sank to her knees, bowing to Erik. "My lord."

Erik crouched down beside her, placing his hands on her arms. He sighed, knowing that he could not sway her correct assumptions of him. "Margaret, you must treat me like any other servant. If Chagny knew that I was the son of Lord Arnold…"

"He would kill you," she finished, solemnly, but immediately brightened. "Our people will keep your secret, my lord, you can be sure."

"Nay, Margaret, for they cannot know! You must tell no one who I am," Erik said strongly, standing and helping Margaret up as well. "It is too much of a risk for me and for the others still loyal to my father."

Margaret smiled at Erik, nodding her head and curtsying. "Of course, my…" she caught herself. "Of course…Erik."

* * *

**References:**

1. _Lucille & Erik:_ In _Aida_, Zoser's (Gerard/Lucille) initial response to the captives brought home by Radames (Christine) is to send them to the copper mines (from which he extracts the arsenic he uses to poison the Pharaoh) as they 'can't seem to keep them alive down there.' This is, of course, shown in this chapter as Lucille's response to Erik's disobeying her. Continuing with _Aida_, Radames (Christine) comes to the aid of Aida (Erik) and instead makes his intentions known of her going to serve Amneris (Raoul) instead. He makes it known to her that she must not try anything to get away or cause problems or there will be consequences.

2. _Raoul:_ Sir Raoul in this story is a skilled swordsman and this, paired with his good looks and rank, gives him a bit of an ego, though he is still kind and good-natured as we've seen him before. This corresponds to the attitude of Princess Amneris in _Aida_, who is beautiful and powerful and has a 'passion for fashion' (hence the song _My Strongest Suit_ in the show). It is important that Raoul be portrayed as a bit haughty since his transformation throughout the story (as with Amneris) is important to the plot and to the eventual fates of the characters.

3. _Raoul & Erik_: Surprisingly enough, they will be friends in this story, as their counterparts Amneris and Aida are. Parts of the conversation about Erik's talents and his compromising Raoul's position are verbatim from _Aida_, in which Mereb (Margaret) brings Aida (Christine) to Amneris (Raoul) and she proves herself 'indispensable' to the Egyptian princess for her talents with fabric. ('A slave who knows her fabrics? I'm keeping her!') This friendship makes the eventual relationship between Aida and Radames (Erik and Christine) all the more complicated.

4. _Margaret & Erik:_ The character of Margaret is the counterpart of the Nubian slave Mereb in _Aida_. The story behind this character is that Mereb's family was abducted from their home in the village of Ikaita, where Aida (Erik) and her family lived as Nubia's royalty. His father had been the king's advisor and Aida herself witnessed their abduction at a young age. Upon reaching Egypt, Mereb was nearly beaten to death by the palace guards but was saved by Radames (Christine) and he promised to look out for him from then on. During the play, he is a close friend of Radames and is in charge of his household while he is out exploring. Obviously, the story has gone under some alterations, such as Margaret being saved by Raoul, not Christine, and her traveling instead of remaining at Dalton. Her scene with Erik corresponds to the song _How I Know You_, in which Mereb (Margaret) confesses to Aida (Erik) that he knows who she is, that being the Nubian princess.

9


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